Famous  Sculpture 


BOOKS  BY  MISS  SINGLETON 

Turrets,  Towers,  and  Temples.  Great  Buildings  of  the 
World  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Great  Pictures.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Wonders  of  Nature.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 
Romantic  Castles  and  Palaces.  Described  by  Great 
Writers. 

Famous  Paintings.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Historic  Buildings.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Famous  Women.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Great  Portraits.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Historic  Buildings  of  America.  Described  by  Great 
Writers. 

PIistoric  Landmarks  of  America.  Described  by  Great 
Writers. 

Great  Rivers  of  the  World.  Described  by  Great 

Writers. 

Famous  Cathedrals.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 
Holland.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Paris.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

London.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Russia.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Japan.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Venice.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Rome.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Germany.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Switzerland.  Described  by  Great  Writers. 

Turkey  and  the  Balkan  States.  Described  by  Great 
Writers. 

Love  in  Literature  and  Art. 

The  Golden  Rod  Fairy  Book. 

The  Wild  Flower  Fairy  Book. 

Dutch  New  York.  Manners  and  Customs  of  New  Am- 
sterdam in  the  Seventeenth  Century. 

A Guide  to  the  Opera. 

A Guide  to  Modern  Opera. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/famoussculpturea00sing_0 


THE  SPHINX,  THEBES 


Famous  Sculpture 


As  Seen  and  Described 
By  Great  Writers 


COLLECTED  AND  EDITED  BY 
ESTHER  SINGLETON 

With  Numerous  Illustrations 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  & COMPANY 
1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
Dodd,  Mead  Sc  Company 


Published , October , 19 10 


Preface 


HIS  volume,  uniform  with  Great  Pictures , etc.,  con- 


tains a selection  of  the  most  famous  works  of  sculp- 
ture from  the  Sphinx  to  the  Statue  of  Liberty. 

Of  all  arts,  sculpture  is  the  one  that  receives  least  pop- 
ular attention  and  appreciation.  It  has  been  suggested  that 
this  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  majority  of 
the  masterpieces  are  badly  mutilated,  and  require  imagina- 
tion and  special  knowledge  for  their  right  comprehension. 

I have  tried  to  smooth  away  such  difficulties  by  selecting 
descriptions  that  not  only  deal  with  the  artistic  qualities  of 
the  work,  but  also  its  individual  history,  or,  if  a portrait- 
statue,  that  of  the  person  it  represents.  Thus,  the  great 
equestrian  statue  of  Colleoni  is  doubly  interesting  when  we 
are  made  acquainted  with  the  career  of  the  great  general ; 
and  we  view  Cellini’s  Perseus  with  attentive  sympathy  after 
reading  the  sculptor’s  own  description  of  the  harrowing 
conditions  under  which  the  statue  was  cast.  The  diffi- 
culties and  dangers  attending  the  exploration,  excavation 
and  removal  of  ancient  sculpture,  especially  in  Egypt  and 
Babylonia,  also  lend  additional  interest  to  the  contemplation 
of  such  works  as  the  Head  of  Memnon  and  the  Winged  Lion. 

I have  arranged  the  works  in  chronological  order,  and  it 
will  be  found  that  the  articles  contain  sufficient  general 


VI 


PREFACE 


information  to  enable  the  reader  to  gain  a very  clear  and 
comprehensive  idea  of  the  history  and  characteristics  of  the 
various  schools  of  sculpture  from  the  dawn  of  history  to  the 
present  day. 


New  York,  September , IQIO . 


E.  S. 


Contents 


The  Sphinx i 

I.  John  Ward 

II.  Alexander  William  Kinglake 

Colossal  Statues  of  Rameses  the  Great  . . . 1 1 

Amelia  B.  Edwards 

The  Colossus  of  Memnon .22 

Auguste  Mariette-  Bey 

Head  of  Memnon . 26 

George  Long 

Assyrian  Winged  Lion 33 

Austen  Henry  Layard 

The  Discobolus 43 

Walter  Pater 

The  Bust  of  Jupiter  from  Otricoli  ....  49 

Wilhelm  Liibke 

Hera  Ludovisi 56 

I . Ernest  H.  Short 
II.  Wilhelm  Liibke 

The  Sculptures  of  the  Parthenon 66 

William  Sandys  Wright  Vaux 

The  Eastern  Pediment  of  the  Parthenon  . & . 72 

Charles  Waldsiein 

The  Marbles  of  ^Egina .82 

Walter  Pater 

Niobe . 94 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


The  Niobe  Group 

Walter  Copland  Perry 

. . 98 

The  Hermes  of  Olympia 

Charles  Thomas  Newton 

. 10  7 

The  Marble  Faun 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

. . 114 

The  Eros  of  Centocelle 

Walter  Copland  Perry 

. 118 

The  Apoxyomenos  ...... 

A.  S.  Murray 

. . 124 

The  Sleeping  Ariadne 

Wolfgang  Helbig 

. • 13° 

The  Demeter  of  Cnidos 

J.  E.  Harrison 

• 134 

The  Apollo  Belvedere 

Walter  Copland  Perry 

. . 142 

The  Diana  of  Versailles 

Charles  O.  F.  J.  B.  de  Clarac 

. 151 

The  Nile 

Wolfgang  Helbig 

. 156 

The  Victory  of  Samothrace  .... 

Lucy  M.  Mitchell 

. . 160 

The  Dying  Gaul 

Ernest  H.  Short 

The  Laocoon 

Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe 

The  Farnese  Bull 

Walter  Copland  Perry 

. 178 

The  Venus  de  Milo 

Walter  Copland  Perry 

. . 185 

CONTENTS 


IX 


The  Venus  de’  Medici 192 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

Esquestrian  Statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius  . . . 199 

Edward  Hutton 

The  Rock  Carvings  of  Elephanta 204 

James  Ferguson  and  James  Burgess 

The  Daibutsu , .213 

I.  Basil  Hall  Chamberlain 
II.  Aim'd  Humbert 

The  Portals  of  Rheims  Cathedral  ....  220 

Wilhelm  Liibke 

The  Baptistery  Doors,  Florence 228 

Ernest  H.  Short 

St.  George 236 

Alfred  Gotthold  Aleyev 

Child  Musicians 247 

Jacopo  Cavalucci  and  Emile  Molinier 

Bartolommeo  Colleoni 255 

John  Addington  Symonds 

Tomb  of  St.  Sebald 263 

Wilhelm  Liibke 

King  Arthur . . 269 

Cecil  Headlam 

David 276 

Charles  Heath  Wilso7i 

The  Tombs  of  Giuliano  and  Lorenzo  de’  Medici  . . 285 

John  Addington  Symonds 

Moses 292 

John  Addington  Symonds 

Perseus 301 

Charles  C.  Perkins 


X 


CONTENTS 


The  Flying  Mercury 308 

Abel  Desjardins 

Diana 314 

Henry  Jouin 

The  Fountain  of  Trevi 320 

I.  Edward  Hutton 

II.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

Cupid  and  Psyche 331 

I.  Countess  d'  Albrizzi 
II.  Count  Cicognara 

The  Lion  of  Lucerne 336 

Eugene  Plon 

Michael  and  Satan 342 

I.  Ernest  H Short 
II.  E.  S.  Roscoe 

The  Statue  of  Liberty 349 

Esther  Singleton 


Illustrations 


The  Sphinx 

• 

Thebes 

Frontispiece 

Rameses  the  Great 

Aboo  Simbel 

12 

Colossi  of  Memnon 

, 

Thebes 

22 

Head  of  Memnon  . 

. 

British  Museum 

26 

Assyrian  Winged  Lion  . 

British  Museum 

34 

The  Discobolus 

. 

British  Museum 

44 

Bust  of  Jupiter 

. 

Vatican 

50 

Hera  Ludovisi 
Eastern  Pediment  of 

THE 

Museo  delle  Terme , Rome 

56 

Parthenon  . 

Eastern  Pediment  of 

THE 

British  Museum 

66 

Parthenon  * 

. 

British  Museum 

72 

Marbles  of  tEgina 

. 

Glyptothek , Munich 

82 

Niobe  .... 

. 

Uffizi,  Florence  . 

94 

The  Hermes  of  Olympia 

Olympia  . 

108 

The  Marble  Faun  . 

Capitoline , Rome 

114 

Eros  of  Centocelle 

Vatican 

1 18 

The  Apoxyomenos  . 

. 

Vatican 

124 

The  Sleeping  Ariadne  . 

Vatican 

130 

Demeter  of  Cnidos 

British  Museum 

134 

The  Apollo  Belvedere 

Vatican 

142 

Diana  of  Versailles  . 

Louvre 

152 

The  Nile 

Vatican 

156 

The  Victory  of  Samothrace 

Louvre 

160 

The  Dying  Gaul  . 

Capitoline , Rome 

166 

The  Laocoon  . 

. 

Vatican 

170 

The  Farnese  Bull 

Naples  Museum 

178 

The  Venus  de  Milo 

Louvre 

186 

The  Venus  de’  Medici  . 

Ujffizi 

192 

Marcus  Aurelius  . 

. 

Rome 

200 

Siva  . 

. 

Caves  of  Elephanta 

204 

Xll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Daibutsu 

Statues  on  Portal 
Baptistery  Doors  . 

St.  George 
Child  Musicians  . 
Bartolommeo  Colleoni 
Tomb  of  St.  Sebald 
King  Arthur  . 

David  . . . . 

Tomb  of  L.  de  Medici  . 
Moses  . 

Perseus  .... 
Flying  Mercury  . 
Diana  . 

Fountain  of  Trevi 
Cupid  and  Psyche  . 

Lion  of  Lucerne  . 
Michael  and  Satan 
Statue  of  Liberty 


Kamakura  ... 

214 

Rheims  Cathedral 

220 

Florence  .... 

228 

Bargello , Florence 

236 

Opera  del  Duomo,  Florence 

248 

Venice  .... 

256 

Cathedral  of  Nure?nberg  . 

264 

Innsbruck 

270 

Academy , Florence  . 

276 

Florence  .... 

286 

Rome  .... 

292 

Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  Florence  . 

302 

Bargello , Florence 

308 

Louvre  .... 

3H 

Rome  .... 

320 

Villa  Carlotta , Lake  Como 

332 

Lucerne  .... 

336 

South  Kensington 

342 

New  York  Harbour  . 

350 

THE  SPHINX 

( Thebes , about  4000  B.  C.) 

JOHN  WARD 


HE  Sphinx  is  Egypt,”  said  a great  writer.  The  word 


Nile  when  we  hear  it  named.  The  Greeks  borrowed  their 
letters,  their  art  and  their  symbols  from  the  Egyptians,  the 
ancient  pioneers  of  the  earliest  civilization.  The  coin  of 
Chios,  which  gave  us  Homer,  bears  a Sphinx,  the  Egyptian 


union  of  the  intellectual  and  the  physical  powers.  But  the 
Greeks  added  wings  to  the  creature : being  a poetic  people, 
theirs  had  to  seem  able  to  soar  aloft,  when  required  ! The 
word  also  conveys  the  notion  of  an  enigma,  a riddle.  The 
Great  Sphinx  is  such  to  this  day.  When  was  it  made  ? by 
whom  ? what  was  its  countenance  ? we  constantly  feel  in- 
clined to  ask.  “ The  Sphinx  must  solve  its  own  riddle,” 
says  Emerson.  When  he  wrote,  he  did  not  know  that  this 
had  been  in  part  accomplished.  When  recently  the  sand 
that  had  veiled  its  form  for  two  thousand  years  was  cleared 
out,  there  was  discovered  between  its  enormous  paws  a 
granite  stele  erected  by  Thothmes  IV.  (about  1530  b.  c.). 
On  this  the  king  states  that  he  had  been  commanded  by  the 
god  Khepra  in  a dream  to  “ free  my  image  from  the  sand  of 


is  Greek,  but  we  always  think  of  the  banks  of  the 


fabulous  animal — half  human,  half  lion — the  symbol  of  the 


1 


2 


THE  SPHINX 


the  desert  which  is  spoiling  me.”  Not  only  did  Thothmes 
do  this  and  restore  the  image,  but  a small  temple  before  the 
figure,  built  by  him,  bears  his  royal  cartouche,  and  commits 
the  ancient  monument  to  the  care  of  his  successors.  Then 
Mariette,  later  still,  found  an  inscription  recording  that  the 
Sphinx  existed  in  the  time  of  Khufu  (Cheops,  who  built  the 
Great  Pyramid  close  by,  3720  B.  c.).  Thus  part  of  the 
riddle  was  solved  ; we  know  how  ancient  it  is.  But  Maspero 
carried  its  origin  back  to  the  time  of  Mena  the  first  king  (4400 
b.  c.).  The  Sphinx  is  carved  out  of  the  living  rock.  The 
whole  figure  is  one  hundred  and  seventy  feet  long  and  seventy 
feet  high.  It  was  possibly  intended  for  a portrait  of  the  king 
who  was  intended  to  be  buried  in  it,  or  who  had  it  made. 
It  might  even  have  been  a likeness  of  Mena  himself  (as  the 
kings  after  death  became  gods  and  were  worshipped)  looking 
out  towards  his  city  of  Memphis.  An  accidental  likeness  to 
a human  head  may  have  been  found  in  a craggy  spur  of 
natural  rock,  which  suggested  the  sculpturing  of  it.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  the  stone  of  the  same  formation  and 
strata  originally  existed  around.  To-day  we  find,  about 
half  a mile  off  to  the  south,  a bluff  of  the  original  rock  still 
remaining  at  a similar  elevation.  This  is  another  proof  of 
the  great  antiquity  of  this  unique  monument,  for  all  the 
stone  available  on  the  spot  was  used  up  in  after  times  for 
tombs  and  pyramids.  The  ancient  sacred  object  was  spared, 
and  stood  up  w an  isle  of  stone  in  the  desert,”  as  it  is  de- 
scribed in  a Greek  poem  carved  on  one  of  its  paws.  Now 
the  sand  is  forty  feet  above  it,  and  the  part  that  is  cleared 


THE  SPHINX 


3 


out  seems  like  a pit.  The  highroad  from  the  Nile  was 
once  close  to  the  Pyramid  platform,  and  passed  by  it,  and  a 
paved  court  and  steps  leading  up  to  the  great  figure  was  un- 
covered by  the  French  in  1798,  and  again  by  Mariette  in 
our  own  days,  but  now  is  again  swallowed  up  by  the  sand. 

In  Pliny’s  time  (a.  d.  40)  it  was  perfect,  and  he  was 
much  struck  with  its  beauty.  He  said  a king  had  been 
buried  in  it,  and  the  square  shaft  of  a tomb  remains,  cut 
deep  downwards  from  the  centre  of  the  back.  This  tomb 
is  of  great  depth  and  has  never  been  properly  explored.  An 
Arab  geographer,  Abd  el  Latif,  describes  (in  A.  d.  1200)  its 
face  as  being  very  beautiful,  and  the  mouth  graceful  and 
lovely,  and  as  if  smiling  graciously,  and  the  face  still  bear- 
ing freshly  its  red  paint.  It  seems  to  have  been  forgotten 
for  centuries,  except  by  the  Bedouins,  who  supposed  it  to 
be  an  Afreet,  and  used  it  as  a target,  shattering  its  shapely 
features.1  But  even  with  its  battered  visage  it  has  a weird 
and  wonderful  effect  on  the  beholder’s  mind.  Listen  to 
what  great  writers  say  about  it  : 

u Science  regarded  by  ignorance  as  a monster.” — Lord 
Bacon. 

“ Comely  the  creature  is,  but  its  comeliness  is  not  of  this 
world.” — Kinglake* s u Eothen .” 

1 They  now  spare  it  to  earn  money  by  acting  as  guides,  and  demand 
“ backsheesh  ” for  showing  it,  climbing  to  its  head  like  monkeys  and 
capering  on  the  top,  much  to  its  danger.  The  stone  of  the  neck  is  soft 
and  worn  away,  while  that  of  the  head  is  hard.  Any  day  these  wild 
wretches  may  thus  cause  the  overweighted  head  to  tumble  off,  and  there 
are  no  guardians  or  police  on  the  spot  to  prevent  this  happening. 


4 


THE  SPHINX 


u There  is  something  stupendous  in  the  sight  of  that 
tremendous  head.  . . . If  it  was  the  giant  representa- 

tive of  royalty,  then  it  fitly  guards  the  greatest  of  royal 
sepulchres.” — Dean  Stanley . 

“ Look  up  into  those  eyes  so  full  of  meaning,  though  so 
fixed.” — Miss  Martineau. 

“ Nature  ! the  Sphinx,  its  emblem,  shows  also  the  claws 
of  a lioness.” — - Carlyle . 

u Its  calm,  majestic  expression  of  countenance.” — Kenrick. 

We  have  seen  that  a king  had  the  Sphinx  unburied  and 
restored ; the  event  was  considered  worthy  of  a carved 
granite  stele,  which  still  stands  where  Thothmes  placed  it 
3,435  years  ago.  I have  picked  up  in  various  parts  of  Egypt 
scarabs  or  royal  seals  of  the  time,  bearing  on  each  a sphinx, 
evidently  recording  the  event  as  important,  as  the  monarch’s 
cartouche  is  placed  beside  ! It  is  wonderful  how  little  things 
like  this  have  been  preserved  to  this  day  as  proofs  of  history.1 

The  sand  came  back  again  and  swallowed  up  the  Sphinx, 
stele,  and  temple,  and  nought  was  exposed  but  the  head 
when  the  French  scientific  expedition,  early  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  first  brought  it  to  the  notice  of  modern 
Europe.  Denon’s  sketch  of  it,  published  in  1810,  shows 
its  state  but  the  head  is  incorrectly  drawn.  A drawing 
made  about  1840  by  a British  artist  shows  how  the  sand  had 

1 About  and  after  this  time,  too,  the  Sphinx  became  popular  and  numer- 
ous avenues  (or  dromos)  of  these  curious  hybrids  were  erected  at  Thebes, 
Sakkarah  and  elsewhere.  They  were  on  a much  smaller  scale,  as  many 
as  one  hundred  being  placed  in  parallel  lines  leading  up  to  the  temples 


THE  SPHINX 


5 


risen  after  Caviglia’s  removal  of  it,  but  is  correct  in  all  de- 
tails of  the  face  as  we  now  find  it.  It  also  shows  how 
ruined  the  body  had  become,  and  the  neck  thinned  away. 
All  traces  of  the  head-dress,  which  in  Egyptian  royal  statues 
falls  down  over  the  shoulders  and  chest,  had  disappeared. 
This  is  owing  to  the  soft  decaying  white  strata  of  which  the 
lower  part,  all  beneath  the  head,  unfortunately,  is  composed. 
It  has  not  been  done  by  violence  altogether,  but  by  the  per- 
sistent “ sand  blast  ” of  the  desert  for  thousands  of  years. 
No  doubt  the  whole  body  was  sculptured  as  carefully  as  the 
head,  in  its  original  state.1  The  part  composing  the  head  is 
of  such  durable  stone,  that  (had  the  Bedouins  left  it  alone) 
the  nose  would  have  been  entire,  no  doubt,  the  golden  collar 
round  the  neck,  the  uraeus  diadem  on  the  head.  It  re- 
mained for  me  this  year  (1899)  to  discover  what  the  face 
had  been  like — and  that  accidentally. 

One  lovely  day  in  spring  I went  out  for  a day’s  sketch- 
ing, accompanied  by  my  old  friend  Ali  Gabri,  who  was  Dr. 
Petri’s  attendant  in  1880-82  (during  all  the  time  of  his  great 
survey  of  the  Pyramids  of  Gizeh).  Dr.  Petri  says  that  Ali 
Gabri  u too  true  a gentleman  to  talk  much  about  himself  ” 
was  cc  one  of  the  most  intelligent  men  in  the  place.” 

I had  often  tried  on  many  previous  visits  to  paint  the 
Sphinx ; in  some  points  of  light  it  seems  to  gleam  with  life, 
and  the  eyes  to  shine.  But  this  is  hard  to  catch,  and  I had 

1 Ali  Gabri  told  me  that  during  the  recent  excavations  at  the  back  and 
sides,  he  saw  the  hind  legs  and  tail,  at  the  north  side,  quite  perfect,  and 
beautifully  sculptured. 


6 


THE  SPHINX 


never  succeeded  to  my  satisfaction.  To-day  the  counte- 
nance seemed  more  expressive  than  usual,  and  I essayed  to 
try  again,  my  faithful  Ali  sitting  beside  me,  holding  my 
sketching  umbrella  over  me,  for  the  sun  was  of  the  hottest. 
I suppose  I showed  impatience  at  my  non-success,  for 
presently  I heard  Ali’s  gentle  voice  : w Ah,  sir  ! if  you  could 
have  seen  the  Sphinkes  before  she  was  broke,  it  would  be 
better.”  Not  lifting  my  head  from  my  work,  I replied, 
“I  wish  I had,  Ali.,,  Waiting  a little,  he  said,  “ I don’t 
want  those  men  to  hear  ” (there  were  a number  of  Arabs 
about),  u but  I found  a little  Sphinkes  one  day,  with  the 
head  not  a bit  broke.”  “ And  what  did  you  do  with  it, 
Ali  ? ” After  a little  time  he  fumbled  in  his  draperies,  and 
produced  from  their  voluminous  folds  a small  bundle 
wrapped  up  in  a red  kerchief,  which  he  opened,  and 
handed  me  a beautiful  little  Sphinx,  in  green  basalt,  with 
the  head,  neck,  shoulder,  and  side  quite  perfect.  So  sweet 
was  it  in  expression,  a smile  playing  on  the  lips,  the  eyes 
clearly  defined,  with  the  earnest  far-away  look  of  a 
favourite  dog  staring  into  his  master’s  face  trying  to  express 
what  he  cannot  utter  ! The  hair  tied  at  the  back  of  the 
head  in  a knot  or  queue , the  royal  diadem  of  the  sacred 
uraeus,  emblem  of  divine  authority,  the  kingly  collar — all 
were  there.  The  eyelids  marked  round  upon  the  cheek, 
treated  as  in  the  amulets  that  were  worn  as  protections 
against  the  evil  eye.  (w  The  Eye  of  Horus  ” was  the  right ; 
the  left  eye  signified  the  moon — protection  by  day  and  night.) 
I was  astonished  at  the  strange  chance  which  gave  me  one 


THE  SPHINX 


7 


Sphinx  to  unriddle  the  other,  at  the  very  moment  when  I 
was  trying  to  imagine  what  the  face  had  been  like.  Ali 
told  me  he  had  found  it  in  the  rubbish-heap  of  Khafra’s 
Pyramid-temple,  and  he  had  kept  it  for  my  coming,  saying 
nothing  about  his  discovery  till  I .should  happen  on  my 
next  visit  to  be,  as  usual,  trying  to  sketch  the  Great  Sphinx. 
My  little  treasure  had  possibly  been  one  of  the  votive  offer- 
ings to  the  temple  of  the  time  of  Khafra.  I have  often 
searched  over  this  same  heap  of  chippings  in  the  founda- 
tion of  that  temple — alabaster,  granite,  diorite,  nothing 
bigger  than  road  metal ! Every  fragment  with  a polished 
side,  showing  it  had  been  part  of  a bowl,  vase,  statue, 
statuette,  sarcophagus,  or  inscription,  broken  into  small 
fragments  by  wanton,  vindictive  violence  of  iconoclasts. 
The  destruction  must  have  been  long  ago,  for  the  fractured 
bottom  of  my  little  figure  is  darkened  in  tint ; u weathered,” 
a great  geologist  said  to  me,  u by  the  atmosphere  and  wear 
of  a geological  epoch.”  Ali  said  green  stone  objects  had 
never  been  found  before  in  this  locality.  I wish  it  had 
more  of  the  lion’s  body  and  claws,  for  the  paws  of  the 
Great  Sphinx  are  but  poor  Graeco-Roman  restorations, 
when  the  soft  sculptured  rock  of  the  older  nation’s  work 
had  decayed.  They  are  merely  built  of  smallish  stones, 
and  have  no  characteristic  of  Egyptian  art.  But  on 
Thothmes’s  stele  there  are  two  views  of  the  Sphinx  he 
restored,  and  we  can  therefore  see  their  character. 

My  friend  Professor  Sayce  was  delighted  with  my  won- 
derful w find.”  It  is  the  same  class  of  work  as  on  Khafra’s 


8 


THE  SPHINX 


statue,  or  perhaps  older.  u The  green  basalt,”  he  said,  “ is 
an  exceedingly  rare  stone  in  Egypt,  though  the  Assyrians 
had  cylinders  of  it  about  6000  b.  c.” 

Khafra’s  great  statues,  which  are  now  in  the  Cairo 
Museum,  are  above  life  size,  and  are  made  of  diorite,  a 
stone  quite  as  hard  as  green  basalt.  They  are  the  finest 
works  of  their  kind,  and  were  found  in  the  great  temple 
beside  the  Sphinx  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  shaft,  into 
which  the  ancient  despoilers  had  hurled  them.  The  heads 
of  these  statues  resemble  the  work  on  my  little  Sphinx. 
The  head-dress,  treatment  of  the  hair,  the  ears,  the  mouth 
and  eyes  are  the  same  art.  The  ornament  (a  gold  decora- 
tion worn  by  royalty)  falls  down  on  the  shoulders  and  neck 
of  both.  So  it  did,  doubtless,  on  the  Great  Sphinx 
originally,  but,  as  I explained  above,  this  part  of  the  rock 
is  soft  and  worn  away  by  decay  and  sand-storms,  and  has 
utterly  disappeared.  In  the  small  Sphinx  the  wig  and  the 
golden  collar  fall  on  the  shoulders,  veiling  the  junction  of 
the  human  and  leonine  body. 

Lord  Cromer  has  freed  the  Desert  from  Dervishes. 
Would  that  he  could  free  the  Sphinx  from  the  Desert!  A 
sand-pump  could  be  contrived  which  would  soon  clear 
away  the  masses  of  accumulated  desert  dust,  and  let  us 
see  the  ancient  monument  in  its  proud  original  isolation  ! 
Archaeologists  believe  (as  Miss  Edwards  wrote  long  ago) 
that  many  of  the  lost  tombs  of  the  First,  Second,  and 
Third  Dynasties  may  still  exist  underneath  these  sheltering 
sands,  awaiting  discovery. 


THE  SPHINX 


ALEXANDER  WILLIAM  KINGLAKE 
ND  near  the  Pyramids,  more  wondrous,  and  more 


awful  than  all  else  in  the  land  of  Egypt  there  sits 
the  lonely  Sphinx.  Comely  the  creature  is,  but  the  comeli- 
ness is  not  of  this  world  ; the  once  worshipped  beast  is  a 
deformity,  and  a monster  to  this  generation,  and  yet  you 
can  see  that  those  lips,  so  thick  and  heavy,  were  fashioned 
according  to  some  ancient  mould  of  beauty — some  mould 
of  beauty  now  forgotten — forgotten  because  that  Greece 
drew  forth  Cytherea  from  the  flashing  foam  of  the  v^Egean, 
and  in  her  image  created  new  forms  of  beauty,  and  made  it 
a law  that  the  short  and  proudly  wreathed  lip  should  stand 
for  the  sign  and  the  main  condition  of  loveliness,  through 
all  generations  to  come.  Yet  still  there  lives  on  the  race 
of  those  who  were  beautiful  in  the  fashion  of  the  elder 
world,  and  Christian  girls  of  Coptic  blood  will  look  on  you 
with  the  sad,  serious  gaze,  and  kiss  your  charitable  hand 
with  the  big  pouting  lips  of  the  very  Sphinx. 

Laugh  and  mock  if  you  will  at  the  worship  of  stone  idols, 
but  mark  ye  this,  ye  breakers  of  images,  that  in  one  regard 
the  stone  idol  bears  awful  semblance  of  Deity — unchange- 
fulness  in  the  midst  of  change — the  same  seeming  will,  and 
intent  for  ever,  and  ever  inexorable  ! Upon  ancient  dy- 


10 


THE  SPHINX 


nasties  of  Ethiopian  and  Egyptian  kings — upon  Greek  and 
Roman,  upon  Arab  and  Ottoman  conquerors— upon  Napo- 
leon dreaming  of  an  Eastern  Empire— upon  battle  and  pesti- 
lence— upon  the  ceaseless  misery  of  the  Egyptian  race — 
upon  keen-eyed  travellers — Herodotus  yesterday,  and 
Warburton  to-day- — upon  all,  and  more,  this  unworldly 
Sphinx  has  watched,  and  watched  like  a Providence  with 
the  same  earnest  eyes,  and  the  same  sad  tranquil  mien. 
And  we,  we  shall  die,  and  Islam  will  wither  away,  and  the 
Englishman,  leaning  far  over  to  hold  his  loved  India,  will 
plant  a firm  foot  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  sit  in  the 
seats  of  the  Faithful,  and  still  that  sleepless  rock  will  lie 
watching  and  watching  the  works  of  the  new  busy  race, 
with  those  same  sad,  earnest  eyes,  and  the  same  tranquil 
mien  everlasting.  You  dare  not  mock  at  the  Sphinx. 


COLOSSAL  STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE 
GREAT  AT  ABOO  SIMBEL 

(About  1400  B.  C.) 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS 

HE  interest  that  one  takes  in  Rameses  II.  begins  at 


Memphis,  and  goes  on  increasing  all  the  way  up  the 
river.  It  is  a purely  living,  a purely  personal  interest;  such 
as  one  feels  in  Athens  for  Pericles,  or  in  Florence  for 
Lorenzo  the  Magnificent.  Other  Pharaohs  but  languidly 
affect  the  imagination.  Thothmes  and  Amenhotep  are  to 
us  as  Darius  or  Artaxerxes— shadows  that  come  and  go  in 
the  distance.  But  with  the  second  Rameses  we  are  on 
terms  of  respectful  intimacy.  We  seem  to  know  the  man 
— to  feel  his  presence — to  hear  his  name  in  the  air.  His 
features  are  as  familiar  to  us  as  those  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
or  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  His  cartouches  meet  us  at  every 
turn.  Even  to  those  who  do  not  read  the  hieroglyphic 
character  those  well-known  signs  convey,  by  sheer  force  of 
association,  the  name  and  style  of  Rameses,  beloved  of 
Ammon. 

This  being  so,  the  traveller  is  ill  equipped  who  goes 
through  Egypt  without  something  more  than  a mere  guide- 
book knowledge  of  Rameses  II.  He  is,  as  it  were,  content 
to  read  the  Argument  and  miss  the  Poem.  In  the  desola- 
tion of  Memphis,  in  the  shattered  splendour  of  Thebes,  he 


12 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 


sees  only  the  ordinary  pathos  of  ordinary  ruins.  As  for 
Aboo  Simbel,  the  most  stupendous  historical  record  ever 
transmitted  from  the  past  to  the  present,  it  tells  him  a but 
half-intelligible  story. 

Rameses  the  Second  was  the  son  of  Seti  I.,  the  second 
Pharaoh  of  the  Nineteenth  Dynasty,  and  of  a certain 
Princess  Tuaa,  described  on  the  monuments  as  “ royal  wife, 
royal  mother,  and  heiress  and  sharer  of  the  throne.”  She 
is  supposed  to  have  been  of  the  ancient  royal  line  of  the 
preceding  dynasty,  and  so  to  have  had,  perhaps,  a better 
right  than  her  husband  to  the  double-crown  of  Egypt. 
Through  her,  at  all  events,  Rameses  II.  seems  to  have  been 
in  some  sense  born  a king,  equal  in  rank,  if  not  in  power, 
with  his  father.  He  is  believed  to  have  succeeded  to  the 
throne  while  yet  very  young,  and  to  have  learned  his  first 
war-lesson  in  the  lands  south  of  the  Cataract. 

That  Rameses  II.  was  the  Pharaoh  of  the  captivity  and 
that  Menephthah,  his  son  and  successor,  was  the  Pharaoh 
of  the  Exodus,  are  now  among  the  established  facts  of 
Egyptological  science.  The  Bible  and  the  monuments 
confirm  each  other  upon  these  points,  while  both  are  again 
corroborated  by  the  results  of  recent  geographical  and 
philological  research. 

That  he  was  personally  valiant  may  be  gathered,  with 
due  reservation,  from  the  poem  of  Pentaour;  and  that  he 
was  not  unmerciful  is  shown  in  the  extradition  clause  of  the 
Khetan  treaty.  His  pride  was  evidently  boundless.  Every 
temple  that  he  erected  was  a monument  to  his  own  glory ; 


RAMESES  THE  GREAT,  ABOO  SIMBEL 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT  1 3 

every  colossus  was  a trophy ; every  inscription  a paean  of 
self-praise.  At  Aboo  Simbel,  at  Derr,  at  Gerf  Hossayn,  he 
seated  his  own  image  in  the  sanctuary  among  the  images  of 
the  gods.  There  are  even  instances  in  which  he  is  depicted 
under  the  twofold  aspect  of  royalty  and  divinity — Rameses 
the  Pharaoh  burning  incense  before  Rameses  the  Deity. 

We  came  to  Aboo  Simbel  on  the  night  of  the  31st  of 
January,  and  we  left  at  sunrise  on  the  18th  of  February. 
Of  these  eighteen  clear  days,  we  spent  fourteen  at  the  foot 
of  the  rock  of  the  Great  Temple,  called  in  the  old  Egyptian 
tongue  the  Rock  of  Abshek. 

It  was  wonderful  to  wake  every  morning  close  under  the 
steep  bank,  and,  without  lifting  one’s  head  from  the  pillow, 
to  see  that  row  of  giant  faces  so  close  against  the  sky. 
They  showed  unearthly  enough  by  moonlight ; but  not  half 
so  unearthly  as  in  the  gray  of  dawn.  At  that  hour,  the 
most  solemn  of  the  twenty-four,  they  wore  a fixed  and  fatal 
look  that  was  little  less  than  appalling.  As  the  sky 
warmed,  this  awful  look  was  succeeded  by  a flush  that 
mounted  and  deepened  like  the  rising  flush  of  life.  For  a 
moment  they  seemed  to  glow — to  smile — to  be  trans- 
figured. Then  came  a flash,  as  of  thought  itself.  It  was 
the  first  instantaneous  flash  of  the  risen  sun.  It  lasted  less 
than  a second.  It  was  gone  almost  before  one  could  say 
that  it  was  there.  The  next  moment,  mountain,  river,  and 
sky  were  distinct  in  the  steady  light  of  day ; and  the  colossi 
— mere  colossi  now — sat  serene  and  stony  in  the  open  sun* 
shine. 


14  STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 

Every  morning  I waked  to  witness  that  daily  miracle. 
Every  morning  I saw  those  awful  brethren  pass  from  death 
to  life,  from  life  to  sculptured  stone.  I brought  myself 
almost  to  believe  at  last  that  there  must  sooner  or  later 
come  some  one  sunrise  when  the  ancient  charm  would  snap 
asunder,  and  the  giants  arise  and  speak. 

Stupendous  as  they  are,  nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to 
see  the  colossi  properly.  Standing  between  the  rock  and 
the  river,  one  is  too  near ; stationed  on  the  island  opposite, 
one  is  too  far  off ; while  from  the  sand  slope  only  a side- 
view  is  obtainable.  Hence  for  want  of  a fitting  standpoint, 
many  travellers  have  seen  nothing  but  deformity  in  the 
most  perfect  face  handed  down  to  us  by  Egyptian  art. 
One  recognizes  in  it  the  negro,  and  one  the  Mongolian 
type;  while  another  admires  the  fidelity  with  which  w the 
Nubian  characteristics  ” have  been  seized. 

Yet,  in  truth  the  head  of  the  young  Augustus  is  not  cast 
in  a loftier  mould.  These  statues  are  portraits — portraits 
of  the  same  man  four  times  repeated ; and  that  man  is 
Rameses  the  Great. 

Now,  Rameses  the  Great,  if  he  was  as  much  like  his 
portraits  as  his  portraits  are  like  each  other,  must  have  been 
one  of  the  handsomest  men,  not  only  of  his  own  day,  but 
of  all  history.  Wheresoever  we  meet  with  him,  whether 
in  the  fallen  colossus  at  Memphis,  or  in  the  syenite  torso 
of  the  British  Museum,  or  among  the  innumerable  bas- 
reliefs  of  Thebes,  Abydos,  Goornah,  and  Bay t-el- Welly, 
his  features  (though  bearing  in  some  instances  the  impress 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 


15 


of  youth,  and  in  others  of  maturity)  are  always  the  same. 
The  face  is  oval;  the  eyes  are  long,  prominent  and  heavy- 
lidded;  the  nose  is  slightly  aquiline  and  characteristically  de- 
pressed at  the  tip  ; the  nostrils  are  open  and  sensitive ; the 
under  lip  projects ; the  chin  is  short  and  square. 

The  southernmost  colossus  at  Aboo  Simbel,  whether  re- 
garded as  a marvel  of  size,  or  of  portraiture,  is  the  chef 
d’aeuvre  of  Egyptian  sculpture.  We  here  see  the  great 
king  in  his  prime.  His  features  are  identical  with  those 
of  the  head  at  Bayt-el-Welly ; but  the  contours  are  more 
amply  filled  in,  and  the  expression  is  altogether  changed. 
The  man  is  full  fifteen  or  twenty  years  older.  He  has 
outlived  that  rage  of  early  youth.  He  is  no  longer  im- 
pulsive, but  implacable.  A godlike  serenity,  an  almost 
superhuman  pride,  an  immutable  will,  breathe  from  the 
sculptured  stone.  He  has  learned  to  believe  his  prowess 
irresistible,  and  himself  almost  divine.  If  he  now  raised 
his  arm  to  slay,  it  would  be  with  the  stern  placidity  of  a 
destroying  angel. 

The  original  can  be  correctly  seen  from  but  one  point 
of  view ; and  that  point  is  where  the  sand  slope  meets  the 
northern  buttress  of  the  facade,  at  a level  just  parallel  with 
the  beards  of  the  statue.  The  sand  slope  is  steep  and  loose, 
and  hot  to  the  feet.  More  disagreeable  climbing  it  would 
be  hard  to  find,  even  in  Nubia ; but  no  traveller  who 
refuses  to  encounter  this  small  hardship  need  believe  that 
he  has  seen  the  faces  of  the  colossi. 

Viewed  from  below,  this  beautiful  portrait  is  foreshort- 


i6 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 


ened  out  of  all  proportion.  It  looks  unduly  wide  from  ear 
to  ear,  while  the  lips  and  the  lower  part  of  the  nose  show 
relatively  larger  than  the  rest  of  the  features.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  great  cast  in  the  British  Museum. 
Cooped  up  at  the  end  of  a narrow  corridor  and  lifted  not 
more  than  fifteen  feet  above  the  ground,  it  is  carefully 
placed  so  as  to  be  wrong  from  every  point  of  view  and 
shown  to  the  greatest  possible  disadvantage. 

The  artists  who  wrought  the  original  statues  were,  how- 
ever, embarrassed  by  no  difficulties  of  focus,  daunted  by 
no  difficulties  of  scale.  Giants  themselves,  they  sum- 
moned these  giants  from  out  the  solid  rock,  and  endowed 
them  with  superhuman  strength  and  beauty.  They  sought 
no  quarried  blocks  of  syenite  or  granite  for  their  work. 
They  fashioned  no  models  of  clay.  They  took  a moun- 
tain and  fell  upon  it  like  Titans,  and  hollowed  and  carved 
it  as  though  it  were  a cherry  stone,  and  left  it  for  the 
feebler  men  of  after-ages  to  marvel  at  for  ever.  One 
great  hall  and  fifteen  spacious  chambers  they  hewed  out 
from  the  heart  of  it ; then  smoothed  the  rugged  precipice 
towards  the  river,  and  cut  four  huge  statues  with  their  faces 
to  the  sunrise,  two  to  the  right  and  two  to  the  left  of  the 
doorway,  there  to  keep  watch  to  the  end  of  time. 

These  tremendous  warders  sit  sixty-six  feet  high,  with- 
out the  platform  under  their  feet.  They  measure  across 
the  chest  twenty-five  feet  and  four  inches ; from  the 
shoulder  to  the  elbow,  fifteen  feet  and  six  inches ; from 
the  inner  side  of  the  elbow  joint  to  the  tip  of  the  middle 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT  1 7 

finger,  fifteen  feet ; and  so  on,  in  relative  proportion.  If 
they  stood  up,  they  would  tower  to  a height  of  at  least 
eighty-three  feet,  from  the  soles  of  their  feet  to  the  tops  of 
their  enormous  double-crowns. 

Nothing  in  Egyptian  sculpture  is  perhaps  quite  so  wonder- 
ful as  the  way  in  which  these  Aboo  Simbel  artists  dealt  with 
the  thousands  of  tons  of  material  to  which  they  here  gave  hu- 
man form.  Consummate  masters  of  effect,  they  knew  pre- 
cisely what  to  do,  and  what  to  leave  undone.  These  were 
portrait  statues ; therefore  they  finished  the  heads  up  to  the 
highest  point  consistent  with  their  size.  But  the  trunk  and 

the  lower  limbs  they  regarded  from  a decorative  rather  than 
a statuesque  point  of  view.  As  decoration,  it  was  necessary 
that  they  should  give  size  and  dignity  to  the  facade.  Every- 
thing, consequently,  was  here  subordinated  to  the  general 
effect  of  breadth,  of  massiveness,  of  repose.  Considered 
thus,  the  colossi  are  a triumph  of  treatment.  Side  by  side 
they  sit,  placid  and  majestic,  their  feet  a little  apart,  their 
hands  resting  on  their  knees.  Shapely  though  they  are, 
those  huge  legs  look  scarcely  inferior  in  girth  to  the  great 
columns  of  Karnak.  The  articulations  of  the  knee  joint, 
the  swell  of  the  calf,  the  outline  of  the  peroneus  longus  are 
indicated  rather  than  developed.  The  toe-nails  and  toe 
joints  are  given  in  the  same  bold  and  general  way ; but  the 
fingers,  because  only  the  tips  of  them  could  be  seen  from 
below,  are  treated  en  bloc. 

The  faces  show  the  same  largeness  of  style.  The  little 
dimple  which  gives  such  sweetness  to  the  corners  of  the 


1 8 STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 

mouth  and  the  tiny  depression  in  the  lobe  of  the  ear,  are  in 
fact,  circular  cavities  as  large  as  saucers. 

Emile  Soldi,  who  brings  sound  practical  knowledge  to 
bear  upon  the  subject,  is  of  opinion  that  the  Egyptian 
sculptors  did  not  even  “ point  ” their  work  beforehand.  If 
so,  then  the  marvel  is  only  so  much  the  greater.  The  men, 
who  working  in  so  coarse  and  friable  a material,  could  not 
only  give  beauty  and  finish  to  heads  of  this  size,  but  could 
with  barbaric  tools  hew  them  out  ab  initio  from  the  natural 
rock,  were  the  Michael  Angelos  of  their  age. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  the  last  Rameses  to  the 
southward  is  the  best  preserved.  His  left  arm  and  hand 
are  injured,  and  the  head  of  the  uraus  sculptured  on  the 
front  of  the  pschent  is  gone  ; but  with  these  exceptions,  the 
figure  is  as  whole,  as  fresh  in  surface,  as  sharp  in  detail,  as 
on  the  day  it  was  completed.  The  next  is  shattered  to  the 
waist.  His  head  lies  at  his  feet,  half  buried  in  sand.  The 
third  is  nearly  as  perfect  as  the  first;  while  the  fourth  has 
lost  not  only  the  whole  beard  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
urceus , but  has  both  arms  broken  away,  and  a big  cavern- 
ous hole  in  the  front  of  the  body.  From  the  double- 
crowns of  the  two  last,  the  top  ornament  is  also  missing. 
It  looks  like  a mere  knob ; but  it  measures  eight  feet  in 
height. 

Such  an  effect  does  the  size  of  these  four  figures  produce 
on  the  mind  of  the  spectator,  that  he  scarcely  observes  the 
fractures  they  have  sustained.  I do  not  remember  to  have 
even  missed  the  head  and  body  of  the  shattered  one,  al- 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT  1 9 

though  nothing  is  left  of  it  above  the  knees.  Those  huge 
legs  and  feet  covered  with  ancient  inscriptions,  some  of 
Greek,  some  of  Phoenician  origin,  tower  so  high  above  the 
heads  of  those  who  look  at  them  from  below,  that  one 
scarcely  thinks  of  looking  higher  still. 

The  figures  are  naked  to  the  waist  and  clothed  in  the 
usual  striped  tunic.  On  their  heads  they  wear  the  double- 
crown and  on  their  necks  rich  collars  of  cabochon  drops»cut 
in  very  low  relief.  The  feet  are  bare  of  sandals  and  the 
arms  of  bracelets  ; but  in  the  front  of  the  body,  just  where 
the  customary  belt  and  buckle  would  come,  are  deep  holes 
in  the  stone,  such  as  might  have  been  made  to  receive 
rivets,  supposing  the  belts  to  have  been  made  of  bronze  or 
gold.  On  the  breast  just  below  the  necklace,  and  on  the 
upper  part  of  each  arm,  are  cut  in  magnificent  ovals,  between 
four  and  five  feet  in  length,  the  ord  inary  cartouches  of  the  king. 
These  were  probably  tattooed  upon  his  person  in  the  flesh. 

Some  have  supposed  that  these  statues  were  originally 
coloured,  and  that  the  colour  may  have  been  effaced  by  the 
ceaseless  shifting  and  blowing  of  the  sand.  Yet  the  drift 
was  probably  at  its  highest  when  Burckhardt  discovered  the 
place  in  1813  ; and  on  the  two  heads  that  were  still  above 
the  surface,  he  seems  to  have  observed  no  traces  of  colour. 
Neither  can  the  keenest  eye  detect  any  vestige  of  that 
delicate  film  of  stucco  with  which  the  Egyptians  invariably 
prepared  their  surfaces  for  painting.  Perhaps  the  architects 
were  for  once  content  with  the  natural  colour  of  the  sand- 
stone, which  is  here  very  rich  and  varied.  It  happens 


20 


STATUES  OF  RAMESES  THE  GREAT 


also  that  the  colossi  come  in  a light  coloured  vein  of  the 
rock  and  so  sit  relieved  against  a darker  background.  To- 
wards noon,  when  the  level  of  the  facade  has  just  passed 
into  shade  and  the  sunlight  still  strikes  upon  the  statues, 
the  effect  is  quite  startling.  The  whole  thing,  which  is 
then  best  seen  from  the  island,  looks  like  a huge  onyx- 
cameo  cut  in  high  relief. 

A statue  of  Ra,1  to  whom  the  Temple  is  dedicated,  stands 
some  twenty  feet  high  in  a niche  over  the  doorway,  and  is 
supported  on  either  side  by  a bas-relief  portrait  of  the  king 
in  an  attitude  of  worship.  Next  above  these  comes  a 
superb  hieroglyphic  inscription  reaching  across  the  whole 
front ; above  the  inscription,  a band  of  royal  cartouches  ; 
above  the  cartouches,  a frieze  of  sitting  apes ; above  the 
apes,  last  and  highest,  some  fragments  of  a cornice.  The 
height  of  the  whole  may  have  been  somewhat  over  a hun- 
dred feet.  Wherever  it  has  been  possible  to  introduce 
them  as  decoration,  we  see  the  ovals  of  the  king.  Under 
those  sculptured  on  the  platforms  and  over  the  door,  I ob- 
served the  necklace  or  collar,  which,  in  conjunction  with 
the  sign  known  as  the  determinative  of  metals,  signifies  gold 
(Nub);  but  when  represented,  as  here,  without  the  deter- 
minative, stands  for  Nubia,  the  Land  of  Gold.  This  ad- 
dition, which  I do  not  remember  to  have  seen  elsewhere  in 
connection  with  the  cartouches  of  Rameses  II.,  is  here  used 
in  an  heraldic  sense,  as  signifying  the  sovereignty  of  Nubia. 

1 Ra,  a solar  divinity,  generally  represented  with  the  head  of  a hawk, 
and  the  sun-disk  on  his  head. 


STATUES  OF  RAMBSES  THE  GREAT 


21 


The  two  Temples  of  Aboo  Simbel  are  excavated  in  two 
adjacent  mountains  and  divided  by  a cataract  of  sand.  The 
front  of  the  small  Temple  lies  parallel  to  the  course  of  the 
Nile,  here  flowing  in  a northeasterly  direction.  The  facade 
of  the  Great  Temple  is  cut  in  the  flank  of  the  mountain 
and  faces  due  east.  Thus  the  colossi,  towering  above  the 
shoulder  of  the  sand-drift,  catch,  as  it  were,  a side  view  of 
the  small  Temple  and  confront  vessels  coming  up  the 
river.  As  for  the  sand-drift,  it  curiously  resembles  the 
glacier  of  the  Rhone.  In  size,  in  shape,  in  position,  in  all 
but  colour  and  substance,  it  is  the  same.  Pent  in  between 
the  rocks  at  top,  it  opens  out  like  a fan  at  bottom.  In 
this,  its  inevitable  course,  it  slants  downward  across  the 
facade  of  the  Great  Temple.  For  ever  descending,  drifting, 
accumulating,  it  wages  the  old  stealthy  war;  and  unhast- 
ing, unresting,  labours  grain  by  grain  to  fill  the  hollowed 
chambers  and  bury  the  great  statues,  and  wrap  the  whole 
Temple  in  a winding  sheet  of  golden  sand,  so  that  the 
place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more. 

It  had  very  nearly  come  to  this  when  Burckhardt  went 
up  (a.  d.  1813).  The  top  of  the  doorway  was  then  thirty 
feet  below  the  surface.  Whether  the  sand  will  ever  reach 
that  height  again,  must  depend  on  the  energy  with  which  it 
is  combated.  It  can  only  be  cleared  as  it  accumulates.  To 
avert  it  is  impossible.  Backed  by  the  illimitable  wastes  of 
the  Libyan  desert,  the  supply  from  above  is  inexhaustible. 
Come  it  must ; and  come  it  will,  to  the  end  of  time. 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  MEMNON 

(. Amenophis  III.')  Eighteenth  Dynasty 

AUGUSTE  MARIETTE-BEY 

THE  colossi  stood  before  the  pylon  of  a temple  which 
has  disappeared  to  the  very  foundations.  It  was 
built  of  limestone  and  owes  its  destruction  to  the  value  of 
its  materials.  The  colossi  are  of  breccia,  a kind  of  pud- 
ding-stone mixed  with  agate-like  pebbles,  and  as  they  were 
of  no  use  as  food  for  the  neighbouring  lime-kilns,  they  have 
survived.  Doubtless  the  temple,  the  entrance  to  which 
was  so  majestically  guarded  by  these  colossi,  was  to 
Amenophis  III.  what  the  Rameseum  was  to  Rameses  II. 
and  what  Menet-Abou  was  to  Rameses  III.  It  may  there- 
fore be  inferred  that  the  destruction  of  this  edifice  has  de- 
prived science  of  documents  which  would  have  thrown 
much  light  upon  one  of  the  most  interesting  reigns  in 
Egyptian  history. 

Originally  the  colossi  were  monoliths.  The  northern 
colossus  having  been  robbed  of  its  upper  portion  by  an  ac- 
cident was  restored  with  blocks  of  sandstone  disposed  in 
layers.  Each  colossus  rests  on  a separate  basis,  also  of 
breccia. 

When  these  two  statues  stood  in  front  of  the  pylon,  ris- 
ing so  grandly  from  their  base,  they  were  nineteen  metres 
sixty  centimetres,  or  sixty-one  feet  four  inches  high  ; that  is  to 


COLOSSI  OF  MEMNON,  THEBES 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  MEMNON 


23 


say,  about  the  height  of  a five-storied  house.  Independ- 
ently of  their  pedestal,  the  statues  themselves  only  measure 
fifteen  metres  sixty  centimetres,  or  fifty-one  feet  two  inches. 
They  are  buried  in  the  ground,  like  the  temple  of  Karnak, 
to  a depth  of  about  six  feet  three  inches.  We  need  hardly 
add  that  both  statues  represent  Amenophis  III.  seated  in 
the  hieratic  posture.  The  figures  at  the  side  represent  the 
mother  and  wife  of  that  sovereign. 

The  more  northerly  of  the  two  statues  is  the  Colossus 
of  Memnon,  so  renowned  among  travellers  who,  in  the 
first  two  centuries  of  the  Roman  Dominion  in  Egypt,  vis- 
ited the  land  of  the  Pharaohs.  Destined  by  Amenophis  as 
an  ornament  to  the  facade  of  his  temple,  this  colossus  had 
remained  known  to  all  the  world  as  the  statue  of  Amenophis 
until  the  upper  part  was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake  in  the 
year  27  b.  c.1  Strange  to  say,  this  same  accident  by  which 
the  colossus  was  so  materially  damaged  proved  the  chief 
cause  of  its  celebrity.  It  soon  became  apparent  that  from 
the  headless  trunk  a sonorous  ringing  sound,  resembling  the 
human  voice,  was  heard  when  the  first  rays  of  the  morning 
sun  fell  upon  the  statue.  Doubtless  this  sound  was  merely 
the  result  of  the  cracking  of  the  stone,  wet  with  the  morn- 
ing dew,  under  the  influence  of  the  rays  of  the  sun.  But 
by  the  Greeks  and  Romans  who  visited  Egypt  at  that  time, 

1 Thebes  ALgypti  usque  ad  solum  dirulce  sunt , says  Eusebius.  If  the 
earthquake  proved  so  violent,  we  may  attribute  to  the  same  cause  the  fall 
of  the  pylon  at  Karnak,  the  accumulated  stones  of  which  impress  one  so 
strongly  on  entering  the  large  court,  although  Karnak  has  found  its  prin- 
cipal enemy  in  the  nitre  that  corrodes  the  base  of  its  walls. 


24 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  MEMNON 


the  phenomenon  soon  began  to  be  looked  upon  in  the  light 
of  a miracle.  The  colossus  was  situated  in  a district  of 
Thebes  called  the  Memnonia.  Memnon  was,  according  to 
the  tradition  accepted  by  foreigners,  the  legendary  founder 
of  the  edifices  of  this  part  of  the  city.  Was  not  the  voice 
thus  heard  the  plaintive  voice  of  Memnon  imploring  his 
divine  mother  Aurora  ? The  fame  of  the  colossus  soon 
spread  abroad.  From  all  parts  of  the  known  world  people 
came  to  hear  the  marvellous  voice,  and  the  mania  arose  for 
engraving  on  the  legs  of  the  statue  the  tokens  of  admiration 
of  those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  become  witnesses 
of  this  miracle.  Eventually,  after  the  lapse  of  two  cen- 
turies, Septimus  Severus,  thinking  to  stay  the  plaintive 
cries  of  the  hero,  and  to  impart  clearness  and  beauty  to  his 
voice,  restored  the  colossus.  He,  however,  only  partially 
succeeded  ; the  hero,  it  is  true,  no  longer  uttered  his  plain- 
tive cries,  but  all  sound  was  effectually  smothered,  and  for 
ever  silenced  under  the  blocks  of  sandstone  which  we  see 
to  this  day. 

One  may  easily  see,  on  inspecting  the  legs  of  the 
colossus,  how  numerous  were  these  tokens  of  admiration. 
Many  of  them  are  dated,  the  most  ancient  being  of  the 
time  of  Nero,  the  most  recent  of  that  of  Septimus  Severus. 
The  reign  of  Hadrian  alone  added  twenty-seven  to  the 
collection,  and  there  are  others,  still  more  numerous,  which 
are  not  accompanied  by  any  date.  Most  frequently  these 
inscriptions  are  in  prose,  and  run  thus  : “ Sabina  Augusta, 
the  consort  of  the  Emperor  Caesar  Augustus,  has  twice 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  MEMNON 


25 


heard  the  voice  of  Mem  non  during  the  first  hour.”  And 
again  : “ I,  Vitalinus,  epistrateges  of  Thebaid,  with  my 

wife,  Publia  Sosis,  I have  heard  Memnon  in  the  year  III. 
in  the  month  of  Paehon  (or  ninth  month)  twice  at  half 
past  one  o’clock.”  But  sometimes  also  poetry  is  em- 
ployed, and  we  may  quote  the  two  following  examples  : 
ct  I,  Petroniamus,  who  inherit  from  my  father  the  name  of 
Dillius,  an  Italian  by  birth,  I honour  thee  with  these 
elegiac  verses,  in  offering  to  the  god  who  speaks  to  me  a 
poetical  gift.  But  in  return,  O king,  grant  me  a long  life  ! 
Many  are  they  who  come  to  this  spot  to  know  whether 
Memnon  preserves  a voice  in  that  part  of  his  body  which 
remains  to  him.  As  for  him,  seated  on  his  throne,  deprived 
of  his  head,  he  breaks  into  sighs  to  complain  to  his  mother 
of  the  outrage  of  Cambyses,  and  when  the  brilliant  sun 
shoots  forth  his  rays,  he  announces  the  return  of  day  to  the 
mortals  here  assembled.” — u Thy  mother  Aurora,  the  rosy- 
fingered  goddess,  O far-famed  Memnon,  has  rendered  thee 
vocal  for  me  who  was  desirous  to  hear  thee.  In  the  twelfth 
year  of  the  illustrious  Antoninus,  during  the  month  of 
Paehon  (the  ninth  month)  reckoning  thirteen  days,  twice,  O 
divine  being,  have  I heard  thy  voice  when  the  sun  left 
the  majestic  waves  of  the  ocean.  In  olden  times,  Jupiter, 
the  son  of  Saturn,  made  thee  king  of  the  East,  and  now 
thou  art  nothing  but  stone,  and  out  of  a stone  proceeds  thy 
voice.”  Gamella,  in  his  turn,  has  written  these  verses, 
having  come  here  with  his  beloved  spouse  Rafilla,  and  his 
children. 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 

( Amenophis  III.)  Eighteenth  Dynasty 

GEORGE  LONG 

IN  the  year  1815,  Belzoni  went  to  Egypt.  Burckhardt, 
the  celebrated  traveller,  who  was  then  there  in  the 
service  of  the  African  Association,  had  long  wished  to  have 
the  colossal  bust  of  Metnnon  removed,  and  Belzoni  offered 
to  convey  it  to  Alexandria,  from  whence  it  might  be  sent 
to  England.  Mr.  Salt,  the  British  consul,  after  some  in- 
decision and  delay,  consented  to  the  undertaking.  The 
fact  is  that  Belzoni,  after  having  offered  to  remove  the 
head,  and  not  finding  his  proposal  accepted,  determined  to 
sail  up  the  Nile  to  gratify  his  own  curiosity,  and  the  consul, 
at  last,  agreed  with  Burckhardt  to  seize  this  opportunity  of 
removing  the  young  Memnon.  In  the  instructions  given 
by  Mr.  Salt  to  Belzoni  when  he  was  setting  out  on  his 
expedition  to  Thebes,  after  describing  the  position  and 
appearance  of  the  Memnon,  the  consul  added  : u It  must 

not  be  mistaken  for  another  lying  in  that  neighbourhood, 
which  is  much  mutilated.” 

This  colossal  head  Belzoni  found,  according  to  his  in- 
structions, in  the  temple  which  is  now  commonly  called 
the  Memnonium.  Speaking  of  his  first  sight  of  the 
colossus,  he  remarks : “ The  place  where  it  lay  was 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON,  BRITISH  MUSEUM 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


2? 


nearly  in  a line  with  the  side  of  the  main  gateway  into  the 
temple ; and  as  there  is  another  colossal  head  near  it,  there 
may  have  been  one  on  each  side  of  the  doorway,  as  they 
are  to  be  seen  at  Luxor  and  Karnak.,,  It  was  broken,  and 
lying  with  its  face  upwards,  though  in  Norden’s  time  it  was 
entire,  and  with  its  face  downwards,  to  which  cause  we 
may,  no  doubt,  attribute  its  preservation.  Belzoni  re- 
marks that  he  will  not  venture  to  say  who  separated  the 
bust  from  the  rest  of  the  body  by  an  explosion,  nor  by 
whom  the  bust  has  been  turned  face  upwards.  There  is 
also  a hole  drilled  in  the  right  breast,  no  doubt  intended  to 
hold  gunpowder  for  the  purpose  of  blowing  off  the  right 
shoulder  also  and  rendering  the  transport  of  the  head  more 
easy.  We  have  no  difficulty  in  expressing  our  conviction 
that  this  was  done  by  the  French,  when  they  visited 
Thebes.  They  turned  the  face  of  the  statue  upwards,  and 
blew  off  part  of  the  body,  but  after  all  they  were  compelled, 
from  some  cause  or  other,  to  leave  it  behind.  Up  to  the 
time  of  this  visit,  the  statue  was  probably  entire,  as  Norden 
saw  it  in  173 7.  He  says  : 

u There  is  besides  in  this  place  (the  Memnonium  as  he 
calls  it)  another  colossus  : it  is  entire,  and  of  a single  piece 
of  granite  marble,  but  its  height  is  only  moderate.  It  is  at 
present  thrown  down,  lying  on  its  face,  and  half  buried  in 
the  ground.  All  that  is  visible  appears  quite  free  from 
damage,  and  with  respect  to  the  attitude,  it  is  the  same  as 
that  of  the  other  colossi  of  which  I have  spoken.” 

The  implements  with  which  Belzoni  removed  this  statue 


28 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


were  “ fourteen  poles,  eight  of  which  were  employed  in 
making  a sort  of  car  to  lay  the  bust  on,  four  ropes  of  palm- 
leaves,  and  four  rollers,  without  tackle  of  any  sort.”  With 
these  sorry  mechanical  aids  and  the  assistance  of  the  ignorant 
Arabs,  he  contrived  to  raise  the  statue  on  the  car,  and  to 
convey  it  a distance  of  more  than  a mile  to  the  banks  of 
the  river.  But  the  intrigues  of  the  governor  of  Erments, 
and  of  Drouetti,  the  French  consul  at  Alexandria,  caused 
almost  as  much  difficulty  as  the  actual  removal  of  this 
enormous  mass.  Even  when  the  statue  was  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  and  a written  contract  had  been  entered  into 
with  its  owner,  the  whole  scheme  seemed  to  be  ruined  by 
the  knavery  of  some  parties  and  the  fear  of  the  boat-owner 
that  the  Memnon  would  sink  his  boat  to  the  bottom  of  the 
river.  But  in  the  meantime  the  governor  of  Erments 
changed  his  tone  to  Belzoni,  compelled  the  boat-owner  to 
fulfil  his  bargain,  and  allowed  Belzoni  to  have  the  use  of 
one  hundred  and  thirty  men.  As  the  bank  of  the  river 
was  considerably  above  the  level  of  the  water,  which  had 
retired  at  least  one  hundred  feet  from  it,  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  make  a sloping  causeway  for  the  statue,  and  even 
then  it  was  no  easy  task  to  place  so  heavy  a weight  in  a 
boat,  unaided  by  any  mechanical  power  except  four  poles 
and  some  ropes.  It  is  only  fair  to  the  memory  of  this 
enterprising  traveller  to  let  him  tell  his  own  story. 

u I cannot  help  observing  that  it  was  no  easy  undertaking 
to  put  a piece  of  granite  of  such  bulk  and  weight  on  board 
a boat,  that,  if  it  received  the  weight  on  one  side,  would 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


29 


immediately  upset ; and,  what  is  more,  this  was  to  be  done 
without  the  smallest  help  of  any  mechanical  contrivance, 
even  a single  tackle,  and  only  with  four  poles  and  ropes,  as 
the  water  was  about  eighteen  feet  below  the  bank  where 
the  head  was  to  descend.  The  causeway  I had  made 
gradually  sloped  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  close  to  the  boat, 
and  with  the  four  poles  I formed  a bridge  from  the  bank 
into  the  centre  of  the  boat,  so  that  when  the  weight  bore 
on  the  bridge,  it  pressed  only  on  the  centre  of  the  boat. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  boat  I put  some  mats  well  filled 
with  straw.  I necessarily  stationed  a few  Arabs  in  the 
boat,  and  some  at  each  side,  with  a lever  of  palm-wood,  as 
I had  nothing  else.  At  the  middle  of  the  bridge  I put  a 
sack  filled  with  sand,  so  that,  if  the  colossus  should  run 
too  fast  into  the  boat  it  might  be  stopped.  In  the  ground 
behind  the  colossus  I had  a piece  of  a palm-tree  firmly 
planted,  round  which  a rope  was  twisted,  and  then  fastened 
to  its  car,  to  let  it  descend  gradually.  I set  a lever  at  work 
on  each  side,  and  at  the  same  time  that  the  men  in  the 
boat  were  pulling,  others  were  slackening  the  ropes,  and 
others  shifting  the  rollers  as  the  colossus  advanced. 

“Thus  it  descended  gradually  from  the  mainland  to  the 
causeway,  when  it  sank  a good  deal,  as  the  causeway  was 
made  of  fresh  earth.  This,  however,  I did  not  regret,  as 
it  was  better  it  should  be  so  than  that  it  should  run  too  fast 
towards  the  water;  for  I had  to  consider  that,  if  this  piece 
of  antiquity  should  fall  into  the  Nile,  my  return  to  Europe 
would  not  be  very  welcome,  particularly  to  the  antiquaries ; 


3° 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


though  I have  reason  to  believe  that  some  among  the  great 
body  of  its  scientific  men  would  rather  have  seen  it  sunk 
in  the  Nile  than  where  it  is  now  deposited.  However,  it 
went  smoothly  on  board.  The  Arabs,  who  were  unani- 
mously of  opinion  that  it  would  go  to  the  bottom  of  the 
river,  or  crush  the  boat,  were  all  attention,  as  if  anxious  to 
know  the  result,  as  well  as  to  learn  how  the  operation  was 
to  be  performed ; and  when  the  owner  of  the  boat,  who 
considered  it  as  consigned  to  perdition,  witnessed  my  suc- 
cess, and  saw  the  huge  piece  of  stone,  as  he  called  it,  safely 
on  board,  he  came  and  squeezed  me  heartily  by  the  hand.” 

This  difficult  task  being  safely  accomplished,  the  Mem- 
non’s  head  sailed  down  the  river  to  Rosetta,  and  from 
thence  to  Alexandria,  where  it  embarked  for  England.  In 
the  Museum  Catalogue  the  Memnon’s  head  is  described  as 
the  gift  of  Henry  Salt  and  Louis  Burckhardt,  who  liberally 
defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  undertaking. 

The  material  of  which  this  statue  is  made  is  a fine  kind 
of  Syene  granite,  of  one  entire  mass,  but  two  colours. 
The  head  has,  with  great  judgment,  been  formed  out  of 
the  red  part  of  the  granite,  while  the  dark  part  was  appro- 
priated to  the  breast,  and  probably  also  to  the  remainder  of 
the  body.  The  figure  was  in  a sitting  posture,  like  most 
of  the  Egyptian  colossal  statues,  for  Belzoni  found  it  “ near 
the  remains  of  its  body  and  chair.”  Though  a statue  of 
colossal  size  it  is  very  inferior  in  magnitude  to  some  works 
of  Egyptian  art  of  this  kind  ; its  height,  from  the  sole  of 
the  foot  to  the  top  of  the  head,  in  its  seated  position,  having 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


31 

been  probably  about  twenty-four  feet,  or  somewhat  less. 
The  fragment  in  the  Museum,  which  may  be  about  one- 
third  of  the  whole,  is  somewhat  more  than  eight  feet  in 
height.  The  weight  of  the  mass  is  estimated  at  between 
ten  and  twelve  tons. 

It  is  universally  agreed  that  this  is  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  Egyptian  colossal  sculpture  now  known  to 
exist ; and  if  we  admit  it  to  be  a work  of  genuine  Egyptian 
art  (of  which  there  can  be  no  doubt)  we  may  consider  it  as 
a favourable  specimen  of  what  that  nation  could  accomplish. 
For  so  hard  and  unwieldy  a mass  to  be  wrought  into  any 
resemblance  to  the  human  form,  and  polished  to  so  high  a 
degree  would  of  itself  be  a labour  worthy  of  admiration. 
But  that  the  proportions  of  the  parts  should  have  been  so 
well  preserved,  and  that  beauty  should  have  been  im* 
pressed  on  this  colossal  face,  proves  that  at  least  some 
kinds  of  sculpture  were  once  carried  to  a high  degree  of 
perfection  in  Egypt ; though  they  may  not  be  of  that  de- 
scription of  art  which  our  earliest  associations  teach  us  to 
admire.  In  the  colossal  statues  of  Egypt,  calmness  and 
repose  are  the  most  striking  characteristics  ; but  this  figure 
shows  somewhat  more.  It  represents  a young  man  : the 
breast  is  broad  and  well  defined.  The  beard,  united  in 
one  mass,  adheres  to  the  chin.  The  line  of  the  eyebrows 
perhaps  does  not  project  enough  above  the  eyeball;  the  tip 
of  the  nose,  too,  is  perhaps  too  much  rounded,  and  the  ears, 
as  usual  in  Egyptian  statues,  are  placed  too  high  ; 1 but  even 
1 Description  de  l’Egypte. 


32 


HEAD  OF  MEMNON 


with  these  defects,  and  with  lips  too  thick  for  our  notions, 
the  face  is  full  of  softness,  tranquillity,  and  beauty. 

This  statue  has  received  the  name  of  the  younger  Mem- 
non,  partly  because  it  was  found  in  that  temple  to  which 
the  name  of  Memnonium  has  been  given,  partly  also  be- 
cause it  is  supposed  to  belong  to  the  same  class  with  the 
statues  so  celebrated  under  the  name  of  Memnon.  Neither 
this  colossus  nor  the  other  lying  in  fragments  at  Thebes 
has  any  claim  to  be  considered  the  Memnon  of  which 
Strabo  and  Pausanias  speak. 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 

( Northwest  Palace  of  Nimroud ) 

AUSTEN  HENRY  LAYARD 

I RODE  to  Nimroud  on  the  17th  of  January  having  first 
engaged  a party  of  Nestorian  Chaldaeans  to  accompany 

me. 

The  change  that  had  taken  place  in  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try during  my  absence  was  no  less  remarkable  than  that 
which  I had  found  in  the  political  state  of  the  province. 
To  me  they  were  both  equally  agreeable  and  welcome. 
The  rains,  which  had  fallen  almost  incessantly  from  the  day 
of  my  departure  for  Baghdad,  had  rapidly  brought  forward 
the  vegetation  of  spring.  The  mound  was  no  longer  an 
arid  and  barren  heap  ; its  surface  and  its  sides  were  equally 
covered  with  verdure.  From  the  summit  of  the  pyramid 
my  eye  ranged,  on  one  side,  over  a broad  level  inclosed  by 
the  Tigris  and  the  Zab ; on  the  other,  over  a low  undulat- 
ing country  bounded  by  the  snow-capped  mountains  of 
Kurdistan ; but  it  was  no  longer  the  dreary  waste  I had  left 
a month  before ; the  landscape  was  clothed  in  green,  the 
black  tents  of  the  Arabs  checkered  the  plain  of  Nimroud 
and  their  numerous  flocks  pastured  on  the  distant  hills. 
The  Abou  Salman,  encouraged  by  favourable  reports  of  the 
policy  of  the  new  Pasha,  had  recrossed  the  Zab,  and  had 


34 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


sought  their  old  encamping  grounds.  The  Jehesh  and 
Shemutti  Arabs  had  returned  to  their  villages  around  which 
the  wandering  Jebours  had  pitched  their  tents,  and  were 
now  engaged  in  cultivating  the  soil.  Even  on  the  mound 
the  plough  opened  its  furrows,  and  corn  was  sown  over  the 
palaces  of  the  Assyrian  kings. 

It  was  near  the  middle  of  February  before  I thought  it 
prudent  to  make  some  fresh  experiments  among  the  ruins. 
To  avoid  notice  I only  employed  a few  men,  and  confined 
myself  to  the  examination  of  such  parts  of  the  mound  as 
appeared  to  contain  buildings.  A trench  was  first  opened 
at  right  angles  to  the  centre  of  the  wall  and  we  speedily 
found  the  wall.  All  the  slabs  were  sculptured  and  unin- 
jured by  fire;  but  unfortunately  had  been  half  destroyed  by 
long  exposure  to  the  atmosphere.  Three  consecutive  slabs 
were  occupied  by  the  same  subject;  others  were  placed 
without  regularity,  portions  of  a figure,  which  should  have 
been  continued  on  an  adjoining  stone,  being  wanting.  It 
was  evident  from  the  costume,  the  ornaments  and  the  na- 
ture of  the  relief,  that  these  sculptures  did  not  belong  either 
to  the  same  building,  or  to  the  same  period  as  those  pre- 
viously discovered.  I recognized  in  them  the  style  of 
Khorsabad,  and  in  the  inscriptions  particular  forms  in  the 
character,  which  were  used  in  the  inscriptions  of  that  mon- 
ument. Still  the  slabs  were  not  w in  situ  ” ; they  had  been 
brought  from  elsewhere,  and  I was  even  more  perplexed 
than  I had  hitherto  been. 

Several  trenches  carried  to  the  west  led  me  to  other 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION,  BRITISH  MUSEUM 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


35 


walls.  The  sculptured  slabs  of  which  they  were  built  were 
not  better  preserved  than  others  in  this  part  of  the  mound. 
I could  only  distinguish  the  lower  part  of  gigantic  figures ; 
some  had  been  purposely  defaced  by  a sharp  instrument ; 
others,  from  long  exposure,  had  been  worn  almost  smooth. 
Inscriptions  were  carried  across  the  slabs  over  the  drapery, 
but  were  interrupted  when  a naked  limb  occurred  and  re- 
sumed beyond  it.  Such  is  generally  the  case  when,  as  in 
the  older  palace  of  Nimroud,  inscriptions  are  engraved  over 
a figure. 

These  experiments  were  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  build- 
ing I was  exploring  had  not  been  entirely  destroyed  by  fire, 
but  had  been  partly  exposed  to  gradual  decay.  No  sculp- 
tures had  hitherto  been  discovered  in  a perfect  state  of  pres- 
ervation, and  only  one  or  two  could  bear  removal.  I de- 
termined, therefore,  to  abandon  this  corner,  and  to  resume 
excavations  near  the  chamber  first  opened  where  the  slabs 
had  in  no  way  been  injured.  The  workmen  were  directed 
to  dig  behind  the  small  lions,  which  appeared  to  form  an 
entrance,  and  to  be  connected  with  other  walls.  After  re- 
moving much  earth,  a few  unsculptured  slabs  were  discov- 
ered, fallen  from  their  places  and  broken  in  many  pieces. 
The  sides  of  the  room  of  which  they  had  originally  formed 
a part  could  not  be  traced. 

As  these  ruins  occurred  on  the  edge  of  the  mound,  it 
was  probable  that  they  had  been  more  exposed  than  the 
rest,  and  consequently  had  sustained  more  injury  than  other 
parts  of  the  building.  As  there  was  a ravine  running  far 


36 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


into  the  mound,  apparently  formed  by  the  winter  rains,  I 
determined  to  open  a trench  in  the  centre  of  it.  In  two 
days  the  workmen  reached  the  top  of  a slab,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  both  well  preserved  and  in  its  original  po- 
sition. 

To  the  west  of  this  slab,  and  fitting  to  it  was  a corner- 
stone ornamented  with  flowers  and  scroll-work,  tastefully  ar- 
ranged and  resembling  in  detail  those  graven  on  the  injured 
tablet  near  the  entrance  of  the  southwest  building.  I rec- 
ognized at  once  from  whence  many  of  the  sculptures,  em- 
ployed in  the  construction  of  that  edifice,  had  been 
brought;  and  it  was  evident  that  I had  at  length  discov- 
ered the  earliest  palace  of  Nimroud. 

On  the  morning  following  these  discoveries,  I rode  to 
the  encampment  of  Sheikh  Abd-ur-rahman,  and  was  return- 
ing to  the  mound,  when  I saw  two  Arabs  of  his  tribe  urg- 
ing their  mares  to  the  top  of  their  speed.  On  approaching 
me,  they  stopped.  u Hasten  O Bey,”  exclaimed  one  of 
them — u hasten  to  the  diggers,  for  they  have  found  Nim- 
rod himself.  Wallah,  it  is  wonderful,  but  it  is  true  ! We 
have  seen  him  with  our  eyes.  There  is  no  God  but 
God ; ” and  both  joining  in  this  pious  exclamation,  they 
galloped  off,  without  further  words,  in  the  direction  of  their 
tents. 

On  reaching  the  ruins  I descended  into  the  new  trench, 
and  found  the  workmen,  who  had  already  seen  me  as  I ap- 
proached, standing  near  a heap  of  baskets  and  cloaks. 
Whilst  Awad  advanced  and  asked  for  a present  to  cele- 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


37 


brate  the  occasion,  the  Arabs  withdrew  the  screen  they  had 
hastily  constructed,  and  disclosed  an  enormous  human  head 
sculptured  in  full  out  of  the  alabaster  of  the  country.  They 
had  uncovered  the  upper  part  of  the  figure,  the  remainder 
of  which  was  still  buried  in  the  earth.  I saw  at  once  that 
the  head  must  belong  to  a winged  lion  or  bull,  similar  to 
those  of  Khorsabad  and  Persepolis.  It  was  in  admirable 
preservation.  The  expression  was  calm  yet  majestic,  and 
the  outline  of  the  features  showed  a freedom  and  knowl- 
edge of  art,  scarcely  to  be  looked  for  in  the  works  of  so 
remote  a period.  The  cap  had  three  horns,  and,  unlike 
that  of  the  human-headed  bulls  hitherto  found  in  Assyria, 
was  rounded  and  without  ornament  at  the  top. 

I was  not  surprised  that  the  Arabs  had  been  amazed  and 
terrified  at  this  apparition.  It  required  no  stretch  of  the 
imagination  to  conjure  up  the  most  strange  fancies.  This 
gigantic  head,  blanched  with  age,  thus  rising  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  might  well  have  belonged  to  one  of 
those  fearful  beings  which  are  pictured  in  the  traditions  of 
the  country  as  appearing  to  mortals,  slowly  ascending  from 
the  regions  below.  One  of  the  workmen,  on  catching  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  monster,  had  thrown  down  his  basket 
and  run  off  towards  Mosul  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry 
him.  I learned  this  with  regret,  as  I anticipated  the  con- 
sequences. 

Whilst  I was  superintending  the  removal  of  the  earth, 
which  still  clung  to  the  sculpture,  and  giving  directions  for 
the  continuation  of  the  work,  a noise  of  horsemen  was 


3§ 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


heard  and  presently  Abd-ur-rahman,  followed  by  half  his 
tribe,  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  trench.  As  soon  as  the 
two  Arabs  had  reached  the  tents  and  published  the  wonders 
they  had  seen,  every  one  mounted  his  mare  and  rode  to  the 
mound  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  truth  of  these  inconceivable 
reports.  When  they  beheld  the  head  they  all  cried  out  to- 
gether, “There  is  no  God  but  God  and  Mahommed  is  his 
Prophet ! ” It  was  some  time  before  the  Sheikh  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  descend  into  the  pit,  and  convince  him- 
self that  the  image  he  saw  was  of  stone.  “ This  is  not  the 
work  of  men’s  hands,”  exclaimed  he,  “ but  of  those  infidel 
giants  of  whom  the  Prophet,  peace  be  with  him ! has  said, 
that  they  were  higher  than  the  tallest  date  tree ; this  is  one 
of  the  idols  which  Ndah,  peace  be  with  him  ! cursed  before 
the  flood.”  In  this  opinion,  the  result  of  a careful  exami- 
nation, all  the  bystanders  concurred. 

I now  ordered  a trench  to  be  dug  south  from  the  head, 
in  the  expectation  of  finding  a corresponding  figure,  and 
before  nightfall  reached  the  object  of  my  search  about 
twelve  feet  distant.  Engaging  two  or  three  men  to  sleep 
near  the  sculptures,  I returned  to  the  village  and  celebrated 
the  day’s  discovery  by  a slaughter  of  sheep,  of  which  all 
the  Arabs  near  partook.  As  some  wandering  musicians 
chanced  to  be  at  Selamiyah,  I sent  for  them  and  dances 
were  kept  up  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  On  the 
following  morning  Arabs  from  the  other  side  of  the  Tigris 
and  the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  villages  congregated 
on  the  mound.  Even  the  women  could  not  repress  their 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


39 


curiosity,  and  came  in  crowds  with  their  children  from  afar. 
My  Cawass  was  stationed  during  the  day  in  the  trench 
into  which  I would  not  allow  the  multitude  to  descend. 

As  I had  expected,  the  report  of  the  discovery  of  the 
gigantic  head,  carried  by  the  terrified  Arab  to  Mosul,  had 
thrown  the  town  into  commotion.  He  had  scarcely 
checked  his  speed  before  reaching  the  bridge.  Entering 
breathless  into  the  bazars,  he  announced  to  every  one  he 
met  that  Nimrod  had  appeared.  The  news  soon  got  to 
the  ears  of  the  Cadi,  who,  anxious  for  a fresh  opportunity 
to  annoy  me,  called  the  Mufti  and  the  Ulema  together,  to 
consult  upon  this  unexpected  occurrence.  Their  deliber- 
ations ended  in  a procession  to  the  Governor,  and  a formal 
protest,  on  the  part  of  the  Musulmans  of  the  town,  against 
proceedings  so  directly  contrary  to  the  laws  of  the  Koran. 
The  Cadi  had  no  distinct  idea  whether  the  bones  of  the 
mighty  hunter  had  been  uncovered,  or  only  his  image ; nor 
did  Ismail  Pasha  very  clearly  remember  whether  Nimrod 
was  a true-believing  prophet  or  an  infidel.  I consequently 
received  a somewhat  unintelligible  message  from  His  Ex- 
cellency, to  the  effect  that  the  remains  should  be  treated 
with  respect,  and  be  by  no  means  further  disturbed,  and 
that  he  wished  the  excavations  to  be  stopped  at  once,  and 
desired  to  confer  with  me  on  the  subject. 

I called  upon  him  accordingly  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
making  him  understand  the  nature  of  my  discovery.  Ashe 
requested  me  to  discontinue  my  operations  until  the  sensa- 
tion in  the  town  had  somewhat  subsided,  I returned  to 


40 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


Nimroud  and  dismissed  the  workmen,  retaining  only  two 
men  to  dig  leisurely  along  the  walls  without  giving  cause 
for  further  interference.  I ascertained  by  the  end  of  March 
the  existence  of  a second  pair  of  winged  human-headed 
lions,  differing  from  those  previously  discovered  in  form, 
the  human  shape  being  continued  to  the  waist  and  furnished 
with  arms.  In  one  hand  each  figure  carried  a goat  or  stag, 
and  in  the  other,  which  hung  down  by  the  side,  a branch 
with  three  flowers.  They  formed  a northern  entrance  into 
the  chamber,  of  which  the  lions  previously  described  were 
the  southern  portal.  I completely  uncovered  the  latter  and 
found  them  to  be  entire.  They  were  about  twelve  feet  in 
height  and  the  same  number  in  length.  The  body  and 
limbs  were  admirably  portrayed ; the  muscles  and  bones, 
although  strongly  developed  to  display  the  strength  of  the 
animal,  showed  at  the  same  time  a correct  knowledge  of  its 
anatomy  and  form.  Expanded  wings  sprung  from  the 
shoulder  and  spread  over  the  back,  a knotted  girdle,  ending 
in  tassels,  encircled  the  loins.  These  sculptures,  forming 
an  entrance,  were  partly  in  full  and  partly  in  relief.  The 
head  and  fore-part  facing  the  chamber  were  in  full ; but 
only  one  side  of  the  rest  of  the  slab  was  sculptured,  the 
back  being  placed  against  the  wall  of  sun-dried  bricks. 
That  the  spectator  might  have  both  a perfect  front  and  side 
view  of  the  figures,  they  were  furnished  with  five  legs  ; two 
were  carved  on  the  end  of  a slab  to  face  the  chamber  and 
three  on  the  side.  The  relief  of  the  body  and  three  limbs 
was  high  and  bold,  and  the  slab  was  covered,  in  all  parts 


ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 


41 


not  occupied  by  the  image,  with  inscriptions  in  the  cunei- 
form character.  These  magnificent  specimens  of  Assyrian 
art  were  in  perfect  preservation ; the  most  minute  lines  in 
the  details  of  the  wings  and  in  the  ornaments  had  been 
retained  with  their  original  freshness.  Not  a character  was 
wanting  in  the  inscriptions. 

I used  to  contemplate  for  hours  these  mysterious 
emblems,  and  muse  over  their  intent  and  history.  What 
more  noble  forms  could  have  ushered  the  people  into  the 
temple  of  their  gods  ? What  more  sublime  images  could 
have  been  borrowed  from  nature  by  men  who  sought,  un- 
aided by  the  light  of  revealed  religion,  to  embody  their  con- 
ception of  the  wisdom,  power  and  ubiquity  of  a Supreme 
Being  ? They  could  find  no  better  type  of  intellect  and 
knowledge  than  the  head  of  the  man ; of  strength,  than  the 
body  of  the  lion  ; of  rapidity  of  motion,  than  the  wings  of 
the  bird.  These  winged  human-headed  lions  were  not  idle 
creations,  the  offspring  of  mere  fancy ; their  meaning  was 
written  upon  them.  They  had  awed  and  instructed 

races  which  flourished  three  thousand  years  ago.  Through 
the  portals  which  they  guarded,  kings,  priests  and 
warriors  had  borne  sacrifices  to  their  altars,  long  be- 

fore the  wisdom  of  the  East  had  penetrated  to  Greece 
and  had  furnished  its  mythology  with  symbols  long 
recognized  by  the  Assyrian  votaries.  They  may  have 
been  buried,  and  their  existence  may  have  been  un- 
known, before  the  foundation  of  the  Eternal  City.  For 

twenty-five  centuries  they  had  been  hidden  from  the  eye  of 


42  ASSYRIAN  WINGED  LION 

man,  and  they  now  stood  forth  once  more  in  their  ancient 
majesty. 

But  how  changed  was  the  scene  around  them  ! The 
luxury  and  civilization  of  a mighty  nation  had  given  place 
to  the  wretchedness  and  ignorance  of  a few  half-barbarous 
tribes.  The  wealth  of  temples  and  the  riches  of  great  cities 
had  been  succeeded  by  ruins  and  shapeless  heaps  of  earth. 
Above  the  spacious  hall  in  which  they  stood,  the  plough 
had  passed  and  the  corn  now  waved.  Egypt  has  monu- 
ments no  less  ancient  and  no  less  wonderful ; but  they  have 
stood  forth  for  ages  to  testify  her  early  power  and  renown  ; 
whilst  those  before  me  had  but  now  appeared  to  bear 
witness  in  the  words  of  the  Prophet,  that  once  “ the 
Assyrian  was  a cedar  in  Lebanon  with  fair  branches  and 
with  a shadowing  shroud  of  a high  stature;  and  his  top  was 
among  the  thick  boughs  ...  his  height  was  exalted 
above  all  the  trees  of  the  field,  and  his  boughs  were  multi- 
plied, and  his  branches  became  long,  because  of  the  multi- 
tude of  waters  when  he  shot  forth.  All  the  fowls  of 
heaven  made  their  nests  in  his  boughs,  and  under  his 
branches  did  all  the  beasts  of  the  field  bring  forth  their 
young,  and  under  his  shadow  dwelt  all  great  nations  ” ; for 
now  is  u Nineveh  a desolation  and  dry  like  a wilderness, 
and  flocks  lie  down  in  the  midst  of  her ; all  the  beasts  of 
the  nations,  both  the  cormorant  and  bittern,  lodge  in  the  up- 
per lintels  of  it ; their  voice  sings  in  the  windows  ; and 
desolation  is  in  the  thresholds.”  1 

1 Ezekiel  31:3;  Zephaniah  2 : 13  and  14. 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 

(Myron,  550-440  B.  C.) 

WALTER  PATER 


MPLE  is  the  glory  stored  up  for  Olympian  win- 


of  him  for  the  due  appreciation,  the  consciousness,  of  it, 
by  way  of  song,  that  the  next  generation  sought,  by  way 
of  sculptural  memorial  in  marble,  and  above  all  it  seems  in 
bronze.  The  keen  demand  for  athletic  statuary,  the 
honour  attached  to  the  artist  employed  to  make  his  statue 
at  Olympia,  or  at  home,  bear  witness  again  to  the  pride  with 
which  a Greek  town,  the  pathos,  it  might  be,  with  which  a 
family  looked  back  to  the  victory  of  one  of  its  members. 
In  the  courts  of  Olympia 1 a whole  population  in  marble 
and  bronze  gathered  quickly,— a world  of  portraits,  out  of 
which,  as  the  purged  and  perfected  essence,  the  ideal  soul 
of  them,  emerged  the  Diadumenus , for  instance,  the  Dis- 

1 “ This  statue  is,  without  doubt,  an  ancient  copy  of  the  bronze  statue  by 
Myron  of  the  size  of  life.  The  figure  is  represented  just  before  he  throws 
the  discus  or  quoit.  Its  surface  has  in  many  places  been  corroded  and 
repolished ; and  the  head,  which  is  restored,  differs  from  the  position  de- 
scribed by  Pliny,  in  which  the  face  is  said  to  have  been  turned  back 
towards  the  quoit  about  to  be  thrown  by  the  right  hand.  There  are  four 
other  ancient  copies  of  Myron’s  statue  extant,  and  differing  from  this  one 
in  the  position  of  the  head.  This  statue  was  found  in  1791,  in  the  grounds 
belonging  to  Hadrian’s  villa  at  Tibur  (Tivoli).  The  left  hand  has  been 
restored.”  — IV.  S.  W.  Vaux. 


ners. 


And  what  Pindar’s  contemporaries  asked 


44 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 


cobolus , the  so-called  Jason  of  the  Louvre.  Olympia  was 
in  truth,  as  Pindar  says  again,  a mother  of  gold-crowned 
contests,  the  mother  of  a large  offspring.  All  over 
Greece  the  enthusiasm  for  gymnastic,  for  the  life  of 
the  gymnasia , prevailed.  It  was  a gymnastic  which,  un- 
der the  happy  conditions  of  that  time,  was  already  surely, 
what  Plato  pleads  for,  already  one  half  music,  a matter, 
partly  of  character  and  of  the  soul,  of  the  fair  proportion 
between  soul  and  body,  of  the  soul  with  itself.  Who  can 
doubt  it  who  sees  and  considers  the  still  irresistible  grace, 
the  contagious  pleasantness,  of  the  Discobolus , the  Diadu- 
menus , and  a few  other  precious  survivals  from  the  athletic 
age  which  immediately  preceded  the  manhood  of  Phidias, 
between  the  Persian  and  the  Peloponnesian  wars  ? 

The  age  to  which  we  are  come  in  the  story  of  Greek 
art  presents  to  us  indeed  only  a chapter  of  scattered  frag- 
ments, of  names  that  are  little  more,  with  but  surmise  of 
their  original  significance,  and  mere  reasonings  as  to  the 
sort  of  art  that  may  have  occupied  what  are  really  empty 
spaces.  Two  names,  however,  connect  themselves  glori- 
ously with  certain  extant  works  of  art ; copies,  it  is  true,  at 
various  removes,  yet  copies  of  what  is  still  found  delightful 
through  them,  and  by  copyists  who  for  the  most  part  were 
themselves  masters.  Through  the  variations  of  the  copyist, 
the  restorer,  the  mere  imitator,  these  works  are  reducible  to 
two  famous  original  types — the  Discobolus  or  quoit-player, 
of  Myron,  the  beau  ideal  (we  may  use  that  term  for  once 
justly)  of  athletic  motion  ; and  the  Diadumenus  of  Poly- 


DISCOBOLUS,  BRITISH  MUSEUM 
By  Myron 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 


45 


cletus,  as  binding  the  fillet  or  crown  of  victory  upon  his 
head,  he  presents  the  beau  Ideal  of  athletic  repose,  and  al- 
most begins  to  think. 

Myron  was  a native  of  Eleutherae,  and  a pupil  of 
Ageladas  of  Argos.  There  is  nothing  more  to  tell  by  way 
of  positive  detail  of  this  so  famous  artist,  save  that  the  main 
scene  of  his  activity  was  Athens,  now  become  the  centre 
of  the  artistic  as  of  all  other  modes  of  life  in  Greece. 
Multiplicasse  veritatem  videtur , says  Pliny.  He  was,  in 
fact,  an  earnest  realist  or  naturalist,  and  rose  to 
central  perfection  of  athletic  youth  from  a mastery 

first  of  all  in  the  delineation  of  inferior  objects,  of  little 

lifeless  or  living  things.  And  when  he  came  to  his 

main  business  with  the  quoit-player,  the  wrestler,  the 
runner,  he  did  not  for  a moment  forget  that  they 

two  were  animals,  young  animals,  delighting  in  natural 
motion,  in  free  course  through  the  yielding  air,  over 
uninterrupted  space,  according  to  Aristotle’s  definition 
of  pleasure : — “ the  unhindered  exercise  of  one’s  natural 
force.”  Corporum  tenus  curiosus : — he  was  a u curious 
workman  ” as  far  as  the  living  body  is  concerned.  Pliny 
goes  on  to  qualify  that  phrase  by  saying  that  he  did  not 
express  the  sensations  of  the  mind — animi  sensus.  But  just 
there,  in  fact,  precisely  in  such  limitation,  we  find  what 
authenticates  Myron’s  peculiar  value  in  the  evolution  of 
Greek  art.  It  is  the  essence  of  the  athletic  prizeman,  in- 
volved in  the  very  ideal  of  the  quoit-player,  the  cricketer, 
not  to  give  expression  to  mind,  in  any  antagonism  to,  or 


46 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 


invasion  of,  the  body;  to  mind  as  anything  more  than  a 
function  of  the  body,  whose  healthful  balance  of  functions 
it  may  so  easily  perturb to  disavow  that  insidious  enemy 
of  the  fairness  of  the  bodily  soul  as  such. 

Yet  if  the  art  of  Myron  was  but  little  occupied  with  the 
reasonable  soul  ( animus ),  with  those  mental  situations  the 
expression  of  which,  though  it  may  have  a pathos  and  a 
beauty  of  its  own,  is  for  the  most  part  adverse  to  the  proper 
expression  of  youth,  to  the  beauty  of  youth,  by  causing  it 
to  be  no  longer  youthful,  he  was  certainly  a master  of  the 
animal,  or  physical,  soul  there  (anima) ; how  it  is,  how  it 
displays  itself,  as  illustrated,  for  instance,  in  the  Discobolus . 
Of  voluntary  animal  motion  the  very  soul  is  undoubtedly 
there.  We  have  but  translations  into  marble  of  the 
original  in  bronze.  In  that,  it  was  as  if  a blast  of  cool 
wind  had  congealed  the  metal,  or  the  living  youth,  fixed 
him  imperishably  in  that  moment  of  rest  which  lies  between 
two  opposed  motions,  the  backward  swing  of  the  right  arm, 
the  movement  forwards  on  which  the  left  foot  is  in  the  very 
act  of  starting.  The  matter  of  the  thing,  the  stately  bronze 
or  marble,  thus  rests  indeed ; but  the  artistic  form  of  it,  in 
truth  scarcely  more,  even  to  the  eye,  than  the  rolling  ball 
or  disk,  may  be  said  to  rest,  at  every  moment  of  its  course, 
— -just  metaphysically  you  know. 

This  mystery  of  combined  motion  and  rest,  of  rest  in 
motion,  had  involved,  of  course,  on  the  part  of  the  sculptor 
who  had  mastered  its  secret,  long  and  intricate  considera- 
tion. Archaic  as  it  is,  primitive  still  in  some  respects,  full 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 


47 


of  the  primitive  youth  it  celebrates,  it  is,  in  fact,  a learned 
work,  and  suggested  to  a great  analyst  of  literary  style, 
singular  as  it  may  seem,  the  “elaborate  ” or  u contorted  ” 
manner  in  literature  of  the  later  Latin  writers,  which,  how- 
ever, he  finds  “ laudable  ” for  its  purpose.  Yet  with  all  its 
learned  revolution,  thus  so  oddly  characterized  by  Quin- 
tilian, so  entirely  is  this  quality  subordinated  to  the  proper 
purpose  of  the  Discobolus  as  a work  of  art,  a thing  to  be 
looked  at  rather  than  to  think  about,  that  it  makes  one 
exclaim  still,  with  the  poet  of  athletes,  “ The  natural  is 
ever  best ! ” Perhaps  that  triumphant,  unimpeachable 
naturalness  is  after  all  the  reason  why,  on  seeing  it  for  the 
first  time,  it  suggests  no  new  view  of  the  beauty  of  the 
human  form,  or  point  of  view  for  the  regarding  of  it;  is 
acceptable  rather  as  embodying  (say,  in  one  perfect  flower) 
all  one  has  ever  fancied  or  seen  in  old  Greece  or  on 
Thames*  side  of  the  unspoiled  body  of  youth,  thus  delight- 
ing itself  and  others,  at  that  perfect,  because  unconscious, 
point  of  good-fortune,  as  it  moves  or  rests  just  there  for 
a moment,  between  the  animal  and  spiritual  worlds. 
u Grant  them,**  you  pray  in  Pindar’s  own  words,  cc  grant 
them  with  feet  so  light  to  pass  through  life.” 

The  face  of  the  young  man  as  you  see  him  in  the  British 
Museum,  for  instance,  with  fittingly  inexpressive  expression 
(look  into,  look  at  the  curves  of,  the  blossomlike  cavity  of 
the  opened  mouth)  is  beautiful,  but  not  altogether  virile. 
The  eyes,  the  facial  lines  which  they  gather  into  one  seem 
ready  to  follow  the  coming  motion  of  the  discus  as  those  of 


48 


THE  DISCOBOLUS 


an  onlooker  might  be ; but  that  head  does  not  really  belong 
to  the  Discobolus. 

Was  it  a portrait?  That  one  can  so  much  as  ask  the 
question  is  a proof  how  far  the  master,  in  spite  of  his  linger- 
ing archaism,  is  come  already  from  the  antique  marbles  of 
iEgina.  Was  it  the  portrait  of  one  much-admired  youth, 
or  rather  the  type,  the  rectified  essence  of  many  such,  at 
the  most  pregnant,  the  essential,  moment,  of  the  exercise 
of  their  natural  powers,  of  what  they  really  were  ? Have 
we  here,  in  short,  the  sculptor  Myron’s  reasoned  memory 
of  many  a quoit-player,  of  a long  flight  of  quoit-players ; 
as,  were  he  here,  he  might  have  given  us  the  cricketer,  the 
passing  generation  of  cricketers,  sub  specie  eternitatis , under 
the  eternal  form  of  art  ? 

Was  it  in  that  case  a commemorative  or  votive  statue, 
such  as  Pausanias  found  scattered  throughout  Greece  ? 
Was  it,  again,  designed  to  be  part  only  of  some  larger 
decorative  scheme,  as  some  have  supposed  of  the  Venus  de 
Melos,  or  a work  of  genre  as  we  say,  a thing  intended 
merely  to  interest,  to  gratify  the  taste,  with  no  further 
purpose  ? In  either  case  it  may  have  represented  some 
legendary  quoit-player — Perseus  at  play  with  Acrisius 
fatally,  as  one  has  suggested ; or  Apollo  with  Hyacinthus, 
as  Ovid  describes  him  in  a work  of  poetic  genre. 


THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRICOLI 

{Phidias , 488-432  B.  C.) 

WILHELM  LUBKE 

HILE  Phidias  stamped  the  characteristic  form  of 


the  virgin  Goddess  of  Wisdom  and  the  peaceful 


victory-bestowing  protectress  of  Athens,  the  main  features 
of  which  recur  in  all  subsequent  representations  of  the 
goddess,  a still  higher  task  was  assigned  him  at  Olympia 
— in  fact,  the  highest  which  could  present  itself  to  the 
Hellenic  mind.  This  was  to  create  for  the  temple  at 
Olympia  a statue  of  the  supreme  ruler  in  Olympus — the 
father  of  the  gods  and  of  men.  This  mighty  work  also, 
more  than  forty  feet  high,  was  formed  of  gold  and  ivory  on 
a wooden  foundation,  but  the  figure  was  not  depicted 
standing  as  in  the  Minerva,  but  seated  on  a splendid  throne. 
The  head  was  crowned  with  a wreath  of  olive ; the  left 
hand  held  the  sceptre,  bearing  the  eagle — the  bird  of 
Jupiter,*  a winged  Nike  hovered  on  the  outstretched  right 
hand.  Thus  the  god,  like  the  Minerva  Parthenus,  was 
characterized  with  reference  to  the  Olympic  games  as  the 
bestower  of  victory.  A gold  mantle,  adorned  with  inlaid 
figures  and  lilies,  covered  his  mighty  form.  Still  more  rich 
than  the  statue  itself  were  the  throne  and  footstool  of  the 


50  THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRICOLI 

god,  which  were  executed  in  gold  and  precious  stones, 
ivory  and  ebony.  The  seat  of  the  throne,  besides  its  four 
feet,  had  an  equal  number  of  columns  for  the  support  of 
the  immense  weight  of  the  colossal  figure.  At  the  feet, 
twenty-four  Victories  were  introduced  as  dancing  figures ; 
at  the  cross-bars,  which  connected  the  feet  and  strengthened 
them,  eight  ancient  forms  of  contest  were  depicted  in  sepa- 
rate figures,  besides  the  battle  of  Hercules  and  Theseus 
against  the  Amazons.  Between  the  lower  parts  of  the  feet 
bars  were  inserted,  the  front  side  of  which  was  simply 
painted  blue,  as  it  was  for  the  most  part  concealed  by  the 
feet  and  the  falling  mantle  of  the  god ; on  the  three  other 
sides,  Panoenus,  the  nephew  of  Phidias,  painted  nine 
scenes  from  the  heroic  legends.  There  were  also,  probably 
on  the  arms  of  the  throne,  Sphinx  figures  carrying  away 
boys,  and  Apollo  and  Diana  who  killed  the  children  of 
Niobe.  On  the  back  there  were  the  Horae  and  the  Graces, 
and,  on  the  footstool,  golden  lions  and  the  contest  of 
Theseus  with  the  Amazons  were  introduced.  Lastly,  the 
base  on  which  the  throne  stood  was  also  entirely  covered 
with  figures  of  the  gods.  The  majestic  figure  of  the 
god  must  have  stood  out  all  the  more  grandly  from  this 
rich  splendour.  Phidias  had  represented  him  not  merely 
as  the  gracious  and  benevolent  father  of  all,  but  also  as  the 
mighty  ruler  of  Olympus.  In  this  he  had  followed  the 
description  of  Homer  who  depicts  the  god,  even  when 
gently  acceding  to  the  request  of  Thetis,  as  shaking 
Olympus  by  his  nod  : 


BUST  OF  JUPITER,  VATICAN 


THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRICOLI  5 1 

“He  spoke,  and  awful  bends  his  sable  brow; 

Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls  and  gives  the  nod. 

The  stamp  of  fate,  and  sanction  of  the  god ; 

High  Heaven  with  trembling  the  dread  signal  took. 

And  all  Olympus  to  the  centre  shook.” 

Our  knowledge  of  this  perished  work  is  exclusively  based 
on  a few  coins  from  Elis,  which  either,  like  that  at  Paris, 
represent  the  head  of  Jupiter,  or,  like  the  Florentine  one, 
the  whole  figure.  The  god  is  sitting  erect  in  a dignified 
attitude  holding  the  sceptre  perpendicularly  in  his  left  hand, 
which  is  slightly  raised,  and  supporting  it  on  the  ground  ; in. 
his  right  hand  he  bears  the  Victory  who  hovers  towards  him 
holding  out  the  victor’s  band.  The  head,  wreathed  with 
olive,  is  surrounded  down  to  the  shoulders  by  the  rich  mass 
of  hair  which  encircles  the  forehead  with  its  waving  locks. 
The  full  beard  also  indicates  manly  vigour.  The  face  is  in- 
clined somewhat  forwards,  as  if  the  god  were  condescend- 
ingly bending  towards  the  approaching  suppliant ; the  fore- 
head projects  above  the  nose,  and  this  increases  the  expres- 
sion of  reflective  seriousness,  and  the  large  open  eye  seems 
to  gaze  forth  with  penetrating  power  from  beneath  the 
strongly  overhanging  brow.  There  is  something  strict, 
majestic  and  solemn  about  the  whole  figure. 

The  characteristics  of  the  supreme  god  of  the  Hellenists 
were  henceforth  so  completely  established  for  all  ages  by 
Phidias’s  master-work  that  they  even  appear  in  the  feebler 
copies  of  a later  period ; only,  for  the  most  part,  the  forms 


52  THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRICOLI 

are  more  free  and  natural,  and  the  air  of  solemn  earnestness 
has  been  succeeded  by  less  strictness  of  conception. 

Among  the  subsequent  works,  in  which  we  can  trace  a 
faint  gleam  of  the  original,  the  most  important  are  the 
marble  statue  of  Jupiter  Verospi  and  the  marble  head  dis- 
covered at  Otricoli,  both  of  which  are  nowin  the  Vatican 
Museum.  The  latter  work,  although  inclining  to  manner- 
ism and  bombast  in  its  treatment  and  not  devoid  of  certain 
exaggerations,  gives  us  an  idea  of  the  original,  though  but  a 
feeble  one.  This  is,  indeed,  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that 
it  is  a copy  executed  in  the  Roman  period,  the  original  of 
which  undoubtedly,  judging  from  the  whole  character  of 
the  forms,  and  especially  from  the  hair,  belongs  to  no  earlier 
epoch  than  that  of  Alexander.  Nevertheless,  we  mention  it 
here  because  we  can  still  trace  in  its  characteristics  the  lead- 
ing ideas  that  marked  the  conception  of  a Phidias.  In  fact, 
perhaps  the  Jupiter  of  Otricoli,  in  spite  of  its  modern  style, 
affords  a more  lively  idea  than  any  other  copy  of  that 
powerful  effect  which  this  master-work  exercised  on  antiq- 
uity. The  main  point  of  the  characterization  lies  unmis- 
takably in  the  abundant  hair  falling  on  both  sides  in  thick 
masses,  and  in  the  bold  elevated  brows,  beneath  which  the 
eyes  seem  to  gaze  over  the  vast  universe.  The  compact 
brow  and  prominent  nose  complete  the  expression  of 
wisdom  and  power,  while  the  full,  slightly-parted  lips  imply 
mild  benevolence,  and  the  luxuriant  beard  and  firm  well- 
formed  cheeks  betray  sensual  vigour  and  imperishable 
manly  beauty. 


THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRXCOLI  53 

The  Jupiter  of  Phidias  received  the  highest  admiration 
from  all  antiquity  ; it  survived  the  god  himself,  for  it  was  not 
till  the  Fifth  Century  of  the  Christian  Era  that  a fire 
destroyed  both  the  statue  and  the  temple.  Every  Hellenist 
went  on  a pilgrimage  to  it ; he  who  had  seen  it  was  pro- 
nounced happy.  “ Even  on  a Roman,  as  iEmilius  Paulus, 
for  instance,”  writes  Brunn,  “ the  Olympic  Jupiter  pro- 
duced the  most  powerful  effect;  to  him,  at  least,  it  was  the 
embodiment  of  the  Homeric  Jupiter,  if  not  the  god  himself. 
Pliny  speaks  of  it  as  inimitable  ; later  writers  extol  the  view 
of  it  as  a magic  charm,  which  makes  all  care  and  suffering 
forgotten;  and  Quintilian  says  that  the  Jupiter  of  Phidias 
has  even  added  a new  impetus  to  the  existing  religion,  so 
much  does  the  majesty  of  the  work  equal  the  god  himself.” 

The  ruler  of  Olympus  did  not,  it  is  said,  disdain  to  give 
the  master  a proof  of  his  satisfaction.  For,  so  says  the  relig- 
ious legend,  when  Phidias,  standing  before  his  finished  work 
in  the  temple,  prayed  the  god  for  a token  that  the  work  was 
pleasing  to  him,  a flash  of  lightning  suddenly  passed  across 
the  unclouded  sky,  and,  through  an  opening  in  the  temple 
roof,  touched  the  ground  by  the  side  of  the  master. 

This  work  of  Jupiter  affords  us  the  most  valuable  assist- 
ance in  estimating  the  importance  of  the  great  masters. 
We  see  in  his  art  the  idea  of  the  supreme  god  of  the 
Hellenists  embodied  with  a perfection  which  must  have 
been  irresistible  to  every  Greek.  Never  was  the  concep- 
tion of  the  god  of  a whole  people  expressed  in  such  a com- 
plete manner  in  the  creation  of  an  artist.  How  deeply 


54  THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRICOLI 

must  the  soul  of  the  master  have  been  imbued  with  the 
universal  feeling,  and  with  the  national  idea  of  God,  thus 
to  produce  a work  which  exercised  such  absolute  power  on 
the  minds  of  men  ! While  in  this  statue  the  supreme 
Being  was  embodied  in  mortal  form,  the  other  statues  of 
the  gods  by  Phidias  also  exhibit  a similar  spiritual  nature. 
Above  all  this  is  the  case  with  the  tutelar  goddess  of  his 
native  city,  whom  he  so  often  delineated.  In  whatever 
form  he  conceived  her— whether  as  the  warlike  champion, 
or  as  the  peaceful  maidenly  protectress,  with  all  her  beauty, 
the  character  of  a high  spiritual  dignity  was  always  pre- 
dominant. Hence  a Greek  epigram,  comparing  the 
Minerva  of  Phidias  with  the  Venus  of  Praxiteles,  says  that 
it  could  only  occur  to  a cow-keeper  like  Paris  to  prefer  the 
Venus  to  the  Minerva.  Still  even  several  statues  of  the 
Goddess  of  Love  which  Phidias  executed,  especially  a 
famous  gold  and  ivory  one  at  Elis,  bore  the  stamp  rather  of 
a spiritual  and  divine  beauty,  than  of  sensual  loveliness,  for 
the  master  never  represented  her  but  as  Venus  Urania.  If 
we  connect  with  this  the  verdict  of  the  ancients  that  Phidias 
alone  had  seen  the  true  likeness  of  the  gods,  and  that  he 
alone  had  rendered  them  visible,  we  may  say  of  him  what 
has  been  said  of  Homer,  he  created  the  gods  of  Greece. 
In  this  lies  the  immeasurable  advance  which  he  made  be- 
yond his  predecessors.  How  lifeless  and  stiff  in  comparison 
is  the  figure  of  the  goddess  in  the  temple  of  Angina  ! In 
the  works  of  Phidias  the  plastic  representations  of  the  gods 
first  acquire  spirit,  character  and  life.  He,  therefore,  may 


THE  BUST  OF  JUPITER  FROM  OTRXCOLI  55 

eminently  be  styled  the  sculptor  of  the  gods.  His  genius 
had  no  inclination  for  works  in  which  there  was  no  scope 
for  spiritual  expression. 

It  is  no  less  evident  that,  with  all  their  spiritual  excel- 
lence, the  works  of  this  master  were  equally  distinguished 
for  the  highest  artistic  perfection  of  form.  We  do  not  re- 
fer merely  to  his  complete  mastery  over  every  kind  of 
technical  art,  such  as  marble  sculpture,  gold  and  ivory- 
work  and  bronze  casting,  each  of  which  he  employed  in 
colossal  designs,  and  even  the  delicate  engraving  which,  in 
the  midst  of  larger  tasks,  he  cultivated,  as  it  were,  as  a rec- 
reation, though  for  special  objects;  but  in  a higher  sense 
also  he  must  have  had  full  sway  over  the  vast  field  of  the 
plastic  art  of  that  day.  He  was  a master  in  composition; 
the  organic  structure  of  every  kind  of  form  lay  distinctly 
before  his  view,  and  he  knew  how  to  apply  the  most  deli- 
cate and  hidden  laws  of  perspective.  Antiquity  furnishes 
us  with  a characteristic  anecdote  on  this  point.  The  Athe- 
nians once  ordered  Phidias  and  Alcamenes  to  execute 
statues  of  Minerva  which  were  to  be  raised  upon  columns. 
When  the  works  were  completed,  though  not  yet  trans- 
ported to  the  place  destined  for  them,  the  people  gave  pref- 
erence to  Alcamenes's  statue ; but  no  sooner  were  they 
raised  on  their  columns  than  the  verdict  was  at  once 
changed  in  favour  of  Phidias.  From  all  this  we  may  say 
that  it  was  Phidias  who  carried  Greek  art  to  the  height  of 
spiritual  beauty,  while  previous  to  him,  perfection  of  phys- 
ical form  had  been  principally  aimed  at. 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


WILHELM  LUBKE 

ALTHOUGH,  according  to  the  testimony  of  the  an- 
cients, Polycletus  did  not  excel  in  representations  of 
the  gods,  but  rather  in  human  statues,  giving  beautiful  ex- 
pression in  these  to  all  that  was  worthy  and  honourable, 
yet  he  produced  in  his  later  years  an  ideal  figure  which  ac- 
quired a typical  importance  for  succeeding  ages.  This  was 
the  colossal  gold  and  ivory  image  of  Juno  for  the  temple 
of  the  goddess  in  Argos,  which  was  rebuilt  after  a fire  in 
the  year  423.  She  is  seated  on  a throne,  her  brow  crowned 
with  a diadem,  on  which  the  Graces  and  Horae  were  intro- 
duced in  relief.  In  one  hand  she  held  the  sceptre,  in  the 
other  a pomegranate ; the  throne  was  grown  over  with  a 
vine,  and  her  feet  rested  on  a lion’s  skin.  For  some  time 
it  was  imagined  that  an  idea  of  the  majestic  effect  of  the 
work  was  afforded  by  a copy  of  a later  period,  the  colossal 
marble  head  of  Juno  in  the  Villa  Ludovisi  in  Rome.  It  is 
certainly  a work  which,  in  the  grand  character  of  its  forms, 
combines  the  unapproachable  majesty  of  the  queen  of  the 
mighty  Jupiter  with  womanly  grace  and  feminine  dignity. 
The  severe  commanding  brow  is  softened  into  gracious 
loveliness  by  the  soft  waving  hair — imperishable  youthful 


HERA  LUDOVISI,  MUSEO  DELLE  TERME,  ROME 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


57 


The  statue  of  Hera  in  the  temple  between  Argos  and 
Mycenae  was  the  work  of  Polycletus.  It  was  erected  after 
423  b.  c.,  when  it  was  necessary  to  rebuild  the  shrine  of 
the  goddess  owing  to  the  burning  of  the  older  temple. 
The  goddess  was  seated  on  her  throne ; the  crown  on  her 
head  was  decorated  with  a design  of  the  Graces  and  the  Sea- 
sons in  relief.  Ivory  was  used  to  represent  the  flesh  of  the 
M white  armed  ” goddess,  and  her  rich  garments  were  elab- 
orately decorated  with  gold,  the  finish  of  every  detail  being 
even  more  complete  than  was  the  case  with  the  work  of 
Phidias.  If  the  statue  of  Hera  were  second  to  that  of 
Zeus  in  its  suggestion  of  godlike  majesty  and  repose,  it 
was  nevertheless  remarkable  for  its  stately  beauty.  The 
head,  as  would  be  expected  from  the  hand  of  Polycletus, 
was  noticeable  for  the  absolute  symmetry  of  every  feature. 
The  ripples  of  the  hair  falling  on  either  side  of  the  central 
parting  gave  an  impression  of  dignified  calm  to  the  face  of 
the  goddess. 

The  Zeus  of  Phidias  and  the  Hera  of  Polycletus  are  the 
most  famous  examples  of  the  Greek  statues  which  we  have 
designated  as  M religious.’’  The  term  is,  however,  mis- 
leading. Religious  art  proper,  religious  art  in  the  modern 
sense  of  the  term,  did  not  exist  for  the  citizens  of  Periclean 
Athens  : u personal  ” religion — with  its  intense  subjectivity 
— was  a closed  book  to  him.  The  mysticism — that  yearn- 
ing to  be  at  one  with  the  ultimate  reality — which  is  the 
key-note  of  what  we  moderns  deem  religion,  would  have 
been  simply  meaningless  to  the  Argive,  the  Spartan,  or  the 


58 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


Athenian  of  the  Fifth  Century.  No  Greek  could  have 
said  with  Bacon  : u Our  humanity  were  a poor  thing  but 
for  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us.”  Such  sentiments  as 
those  of  the  mystic,  Antony,  the  Egyptian,  would  have 
struck  him  as  sheer  nonsense : u He  who  sits  still  in  the 

desert  is  safe  from  three  enemies — from  hearing,  from 
speech,  from  sight ; and  has  to  fight  against  only  one — his 
own  heart.”  The  Greek  had  no  conception  of  a w per- 
sonal ” and  quasi-human  intelligence  working  in  and 
through  the  human  agent.  Human  speech,  human  sight, 
and,  above  everything,  the  promptings  of  the  heart,  were 
all  in  all  to  him. 

We  are,  therefore,  unable  to  correlate  such  a statue  as 
the  Zeus  of  Olympia  with  such  an  every-day  human  crav- 
ing as  that  for  communion  with  a personal  creator  and  ruler 
of  the  universe  which  we  experience.  It  rather  depends 
upon  a desire  for  an  all-embracing  interpretation  of  the 
phenomenal  world.  In  other  words,  such  a statue  might 
more  rightly  be  called  philosophical  than  religious. 

With  the  rise  of  the  city  states,  the  growth  of  an  intense 
desire  for  all  knowledge  brought  a new  light  to  bear  upon 
the  whole  content  of  consciousness.  Men  began  to  dis- 
tinguish between  those  impressions  which  came  from  out- 
side, and  those  which  seemed  rather  to  depend  upon  emo- 
tional interpretation  supplied  by  self.  The  deductions  that 
appeared  to  be  correctly  drawn  from  tense  impressions 
came  to  be  regarded  as  having  a greater  validity  than  the 
rest,  and  science  arose  as  a sphere  of  thought  sufficient  unto 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


59 


itself  and  governed  by  its  own  rules.  During  the  Fifth 
Century  the  scientists  strove  to  relate  the  phenomena  of 
the  senses,  now  to  one  natural  force,  now  to  another.  But 
they  never  reached  a unity  that  carried  conviction.  The 
general  law  upon  which  they  seemed  to  come  ever  and 
again  was  a constant  and  eternal  flux.  u Strife  is  the  father 
of  all  things,”  said  Heracleitus. 

But  while  Greek  science  was  growing  there  were  many 
— say  one-half  of  the  Greek  world — to  whom  its  general- 
izations were  simply  uninteresting.  They  were  the  men 
to  whom  the  poet  could  appeal.  The  mystery  all  desired 
to  fathom  was  deeper  than  sense.  Each  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  that : 

“ Something  is  or  seems. 

That  touches  me  with  mystic  gleams. 

Like  glimpses  of  forgotten  dreams — 

Of  something  felt,  like  something  here. 

Of  something  done,  I know  not  where ; 

Such  as  no  language  may  declare.” 

To  such  men  the  cc  realities  ” of  the  scientists  were  but 
shadows  behind  which  lay  a more  abiding  truth.  The 
riddle  they  desired  to  solve  was  what  relation  the  fictional 
realities  of  the  scientists  bore  to  the  abiding  truths  beyond. 
And  the  bolder  spirits,  spurred  on  by  the  great  intellectual 
and  emotional  flood  which  followed  the  Persian  wars, 
started  upon  the  quest. 

These  were  craftsmen  all — the  artists  proper.  In  obe- 


6o 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


dience  to  some  unreasoned  desire,  these  men  bethought 
them  to  fashion  new  representations  of  u the  all  of  things.” 
They  took  the  ultimate  conceptions  of  life.  For  example  : 

“ Him,  who  from  eternity,  self-stirred 

Himself  hath  made  by  His  creative  word.” 

They  strove  to  convey,  not  only  the  impressions  realized 
by  their  brothers  the  scientists,  but  the  emotions  astir  in 
their  own  hearts.  What  matter  if  the  scientists  proved 
these  u ideal  types  ” to  be  mere  lies.  The  artists  felt  that 
the  unconscious  criticism  of  nature  revealed  truths  far  be- 
yond those  at  which  the  conscious  criticism  of  science 
stopped. 

By  the  middle  of  the  Fifth  Century  the  Greek  artist  had 
realized  that  his  true  task  was  not  to  strive  to  copy  the 
known,  but  u hungry  for  the  infinite,”  to  seek  the  ideal 
whose  home  was  in  the  unknown.  The  inmost  revelations 
vouchsafed  to  Greek  thought  and  imagination  in  the  Fifth 
Century  found  expression  in  the  great  temple  statues. 
Earlier  they  had  been  embodied  in  such  poems  as  the  Iliad 
and  the  Odyssey.  Later  they  were  to  find  expression  in  the 
dialogues  of  Plato.  But  between  450  b.  c.  and  400  b.  c.  the 
natural  philosophy  of  the  Greek  world  was  embodied  in 
such  sculptures  as  the  Zeus  of  Olympia  and  the  Hera  of 
Argos.  That  is  why  we  call  the  second  half  of  the  Fifth 
Century  u the  golden  age  of  Greek  sculpture.”  Then, 
and  only  then,  did  it  embody  all  Greek  thought ; then,  and 


HERA  LUDQVISI 


6l 


only  then,  were  the  workers  in  marble  and  bronze  inspired 
to  express  the  passion  for  physical  beauty,  the  fierce  pride 
in  citizenship,  as  well  as  the  deepest  thoughts  upon  nature 
and  humanity. 

The  passion  for  physical  beauty  found  material  expres- 
sion in  the  great  series  of  athletic  sculptures  of  Argos  and 
Athens.  The  Parthenon  was  the  outcome  of  the  Hellene’s 
civic  pride.  The  deepest  philosophical  beliefs  of  the  Fifth 
Century  Greek  are  to  be  found  in  such  statues  as  the  Zeus 
Otricoli  and  the  Hera  Ludovisi.  These  are  certainly  the 
finest  conceptions  of  the  great  god  and  goddess  which  have 
been  preserved  to  us.  Both  are  based  on  the  statues  of 
Phidias  and  Polycletus,  though  there  are  traces  of  a more 
sensuous  and  florid  taste  than  would  have  been  possible  in 
the  Fifth  Century.  In  the  head  of  Zeus,  for  instance,  the 
suggestion  of  awful  power  is  lacking.  The  great  sculptor 
working  under  the  inspiration  of  Homer’s  lines  : w Spake 

the  Son  of  Cronus  and  nodded  thereto  with  swart  brows 
and  the  ambrosial  lock  of  the  king  rolled  backward  from 
his  immortal  head  and  the  heights  of  Olympus  quaked,” 
could  not  have  missed  this.  The  two  heads  convey  all  the 
beauty  of  the  first  conceptions,  but  they  lack  the  serene 
austerity — the  stern  aloofness — that  we  may  be  sure  char- 
acterized the  work  of  Phidias  and  Polycletus.  The  Fifth 
Century  artists  were  appealing  to  men  who  preserved  a 
measure  of  unreasoning  faith  in  the  gods  of  their  fathers. 

The  beautiful  full-length  “ Barberine  Hera,”  in  the  Vati- 
can collection,  represents  a step  further  in  the  emphasizing 


62 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


of  sensuous  charm,  and  consequently  there  is  even  less  in- 
sistence upon  the  severe  beauty  which  the  Fifth  Century 
sculptor  sought  to  portray.  To  be  understood  the  statue 
must  be  regarded  as  a work  of  the  Fourth  Century  and  be 
judged  by  the  standards  of  Scopas  and  Praxiteles. 


HERA  LUDOVXSI 


Probably  after  Alcamenes  ( Fifth  Ce?itury  B.  C.)  after  original 
by  Polycletus  ( about  450-420  B.  C.) 

ERNEST  H.  SHORT 

HE  most  famous  of  the  religious  statues  of  ancient 


Greece  were  erected  to  Zeus  and  Hera.  Other  gods 
and  goddesses  were  particularly  identified  with  the  various 
cities  of  Greece,  such  as  Athena  with  Athens.  But  for  the 
whole  Greek  world  Zeus  and  Hera  were  the  recognized 
rulers  among  the  dwellers  in  Olympus.  The  chief  temple 
of  Zeus  was  at  Olympia  where,  as  we  have  seen,  the  Pan- 
Hellenic  games  were  held  in  his  honour.  That  of  Hera 
lay  between  Argos  and  Mycenae.  To  these  the  Hellenic 
world  came  from  time  to  time  to  honour  the  Father  of  the 
gods  and  his  chosen  consort.  In  the  inner  shrine  of  each 
stood  a great  u chryselephantine  ” statue — a term  used  to 
distinguish  the  wooden  statues  with  their  veneer  of  ivory 
and  gold  from  the  ordinary  marbles  and  bronzes.  No  trace 
of  either  remains  to-day.  Wood  is  perishable,  and  the 
plunder  of  gold  would  doubtless  have  proved  irresistible  to 
the  Turk,  even  had  the  Christian  been  scrupulous  enough 
to  resist  the  temptation.  Had  they  been  cut  from  the  cold 
marble  it  might  have  been  otherwise.  They  were,  how- 
ever, still  in  their  places  in  the  time  of  Hadrian,  when  Pau- 
sanias  wrote  the  greatest  of  all  guide-books. 


64 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


beauty  blooms  on  the  delicately  rounded  cheeks,  and  the 
powerful  outline  of  the  nose,  lips  and  chin  expresses  an 
energy  of  character  based  on  moral  purity  and  invested 
with  a gleam  of  marvellous  beauty.  But  on  more  accurate 
examination  this  head  exhibits  too  much  softness  of  form, 
too  much  loveliness  and  grace  of  expression,  for  it  to  be 
referred  to  any  but  a decidedly  later  original.  In  fact,  the 
type  of  the  countenance,  with  its  perfect  oval,  its  rounded 
cheeks  and  full  chin,  may  claim  an  Attic  origin,  so  that  we 
may  imagine  it  to  be  an  excellent  and  more  recent  copy  of 
the  work  of  one  of  the  later  masters  of  Athens.  We  may, 
perhaps,  be  allowed  the  conjecture,  though  at  present  we 
have  no  means  of  confirming  it,  that  this  head  may  be 
traced  back  to  the  Hera  (Juno)  of  Alcamenes,  which  was 
found  in  a temple  between  Athens  and  Phaleros,  and  was 
ascribed  to  this  gifted  pupil  of  Phidias.  At  any  rate,  we 
imagine  the  Juno  of  Polycletus  to  have  been  more  severe 
in  its  conception,  and  more  in  harmony  with  the  general 
character  of  earlier  Peloponnesian  art,  and  for  this  reason 
the  head  pointed  out  by  Brunn  in  the  Naples  Museum  has 
greater  claim  than  any  other  to  be  regarded  as  executed 
after  Polycletus.1 

1 “ The  handling  of  the  flesh,  so  far  as  we  can  judge  in  the  present  state 
of  the  surface,  reveals  a softness  and  a delicate  feeling  for  naturalism  such 
as  do  not  occur  in  Hellenic  art  before  the  time  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
If,  therefore,  we  credit  the  Second  Attic  School  with  the  entire  invention 
of  this  type,  it  is  of  the  younger,  and  not  of  the  older,  generation  of  the 
school  that  we  must  think.  The  original  was  created  in  an  epoch  of 
varied  and  advanced  culture,  when  the  Hellenes,  especially  those  of  the 


HERA  LUDOVISI 


65 


upper  classes,  invested  the  ideal  of  the  wife  with  a milder  character  than 
that  of  the  Fifth  Century,  and  one  more  in  touch  with  the  conception  of 
the  present  day.  Thus,  among  all  the  celebrated  types  of  Hera,  that  of 
the  Juno  Ludovisi  has  appealed  most  strongly  to  the  modern  beholder. 
It  is  distinguished  not  only  by  a perfect  physical  form,  but  by  that  har- 
monious blending  of  dignity  and  mildness,  which,  according  to  the  con- 
ception of  the  Greeks  of  the  period,  was  appropriate  for  the  consort  of 
Zeus.” — Wolfgang  Ilelbig. 


THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

( Phidias , B.  C.  488-432) 

WILLIAM  SANDYS  WRIGHT  VAUX 

THE  Parthenon  was  erected  by  Ictinus  on  the  site  of  an 
older  and  smaller  sacred  building,  between  the  years 
b.  c.  448-442.  It  was  constructed  entirely  of  white  marble 
from  Mount  Pentelicus,  and  consisted  of  a cella,  surrounded 
by  a peristyle,  with  eight  Doric  columns  at  the  two  ends, 
and  seventeen  on  each  of  the  sides.  The  height  of  the 
temple  above  the  platform  on  which  it  stood  was  about 
sixty-five  feet.  Within  the  peristyle,  or  outer  range  of 
columns,  was  placed  an  interior  range  of  six  columns,  at 
each  end  of  the  cella,  so  as  to  form  a vestibule  to  its  door : 
there  was  an  ascent  of  two  steps  into  these  vestibules  from 
the  peristyle.  The  cella,  which  was  sixty-two  and  a half  feet 
broad  within,  was  divided  into  two  chambers ; the  eastern 
ninety-eight  feet  seven  inches,  and  the  western  forty-three 
feet  ten  inches  long.  The  western  was  called  the  Opisthod- 
omos,  or  back  chamber,  and  served  as  a kind  of  treasury, 
where  various  articles  of  value  were  dedicated  or  left  in 
deposit. 

Sir  George  Wheler  and  Dr.  Spon  visited  and  described 
the  Parthenon  in  the  year  1676,  two  years  previous  to 
which  the  Marquis  de  Nointel  had  had  drawings  made  of 


THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON  67 

the  sculptures  with  which  it  was  adorned.  These  sketches, 
which  were  made  by  an  artist  named  Jacques  Carrey,  are 
preserved  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Paris  and  have  been  of  the 
greatest  value  in  the  restoration  of  the  compositions  which 
once  filled  the  two  pediments. 

In  1676,  the  main  structure  was  still  entire  all  but  the 
roof.  A few  years  subsequently  it  sustained  irreparable  in- 
jury from  the  siege  of  Athens  by  the  Venetian  forces  under 
Morosini  and  Coningsmark  in  1687,  and  from  the  attempts 
made  by  Morosini  to  detach  portions  of  the  pedimental 
statues  as  spoils  for  his  republic.  During  the  siege,  a shell 
fired  from  the  opposite  hill  destroyed  nearly  half  the  fabric, 
the  walls  of  the  cella  before  the  Opisthodomos  being  almost 
entirely  levelled,  together  with  six  columns  of  the  northern 
and  five  of  the  southern  peristyle.  The  eastern  portico  it- 
self appears  to  have  escaped  its  influence,  but  the  sculptures 
it  contained  were  almost  entirely  destroyed. 

The  Parthenon  was  dedicated  to  Pallas  Athene,  the 
tutelary  Goddess  of  the  Athenian  State.  In  the  Greek  and 
the  ancient  idolatries  generally,  the  Temple  of  a Deity  was 
considered  as  his  dwelling-place;  his  statue  within  the  cella, 
the  symbol,  and  more  than  the  symbol,  of  his  bodily  pres- 
ence. Thus  the  name  Parthenon  means  literally  the  House 
of  the  Virgin  Goddess.  Within  the  cella  stood  the  match- 
less statue  of  Pallas  Athene,  in  gold  and  ivory,  one  of  the 
two  greatest  works  of  Phidias.  The  whole  of  the  decora- 
tions of  the  building  formed  one  great  design  or  sculptural 
poem  in  her  honour,  tracing  out  her  connection  with  the 


68  THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

soil^of  Attica,  celebrating  her  chief  exploits,  and  indirectly 
blending  her  glory  with  that  of  the  people  of  whom  she  was 
the  tutelary  deity. 

The  sculptures  which  decorated  the  pediments  of  Greek 
temples  generally  had  reference  either  to  the  Deity  to  whom 
the  temple  was  dedicated,  or  to  the  State  by  whom  it  was 
erected.  The  principal  figures  in  the  design  were  placed 
under  the  apex  of  the  pediment : here  was  the  cul- 
minating point  of  the  action,  to  which  all  other  parts 
of  the  composition  converged.  The  subordinate  figures 
were  ranged  on  each  side  of  this  group,  in  a standing,  sit- 
ting, or  reclining  attitude,  according  as  the  slope  of  the 
pediment  permitted.  Colour  was  employed  in  the  architec- 
ture and  the  sculpture  so  as  to  draw  attention  to  the  main 
lines  of  the  structure,  to  detach  more  clearly  the  whole 
composition  from  its  background,  and  to  distinguish  figure 
from  figure  in  the  groups,  and  flesh  from  drapery  in  single 
figures.  The  weapons,  the  reins  of  the  horses,  and  other 
accessories  were  of  metal,  and  the  eyes  of  some  of  the 
principal  figures  were  inlaid. 

The  subject  of  the  western  pediment  was  the  Contest  be- 
tween Athene  and  Poseidon  for  the  honour  of  giving  a name 
to  the  city  of  Athens.  This  contest  took  place  on  the 
Acropolis  itself.  The  pediment  must  therefore  be  taken  as 
a representation  of  the  scene  of  the  action,  which  was 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  Cephisus,  on  the  other  by  the 
Ilissus  and  Calirrhoe.  These  rivers  were  figuratively  rep- 
resented in  the  composition  of  this  pediment,  just  as  the 


THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON  69 

boundaries  of  Olympus,  Night  and  Day  were  figured  in  either 
angle  of  the  eastern  pediment. 

The  Metopes  of  the  Parthenon  were  a series  of  groups  in 
alto-rilievo  placed  round  the  Temple  in  the  spaces  (Metopae) 
between  the  Triglyphs.  They  were  ninety-two  in  number, 
and  comprised  a great  number  of  subjects  all  relating  to  the 
exploits  of  Athene  herself,  or  to  those  of  the  indigenous 
heroes  of  Attica.  The  Metopes  of  the  east  and  west  ends 
are  now  very  much  mutilated,  and  their  subjects  are  diffi- 
cult to  make  out.  Those  at  the  east  end  seem  to  com- 
memorate the  deeds  of  Athene  herself ; those  at  the  west  to 
represent  combats  of  horsemen  and  foot  soldiers,  perhaps 
Greeks  and  Amazons.  On  the  north  side,  many  of  the 
Metopes  have  perished,  but  some  of  them  certainly  repre- 
sented combats  of  Greeks  and  Amazons.  On  the  south 
side,  a number  of  Metopes  related  to  the  contests  of  the 
Greeks  and  Centaurs.  The  remainder  have  been  most 
learnedly  elucidated  by  the  Chevalier  Bronstedt.  The  sub- 
jects of  these  are  not  combats,  but  probably  scenes  con- 
nected with  the  Eleusinian  and  other  Attic  rituals. 

The  frieze  representing  the  Greater  Panathenaic  Festival 
at  Athens  occupied  originally  about  524  feet  in  length  of 
the  outside  of  the  cella  of  the  Parthenon  within  the  external 
columns  which  on  all  sides  surrounded  that  building.  The 
base  of  this  line  of  sculpture  was  about  forty  feet  from  the 
pavement  of  the  platform.  The  position  of  the  frieze 
close  under  the  ceiling  of  the  colonnade  prevented  its  re- 
ceiving any  direct  light  from  the  rays  of  the  sun ; hence  it 


70  THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

was  necessary  for  it  to  be  in  low  relief,  else  the  shadows 
would  have  been  so  broad  and  strong  that  the  upper  por- 
tions would  have  been  obscured,  and  the  relative  proportions 
of  the  parts  deranged  and  distorted.  To  obviate  these  diffi- 
culties, the  artists  placed  the  objects  in  bas-relief,  with  a 
strong  and  well-defined  outline,  producing  thereby  great 
richness  of  effect.  This  frieze  was,  indeed,  subordinate  to 
the  more  important  sculptures  of  the  pediments  and 
Metopes,  but  was  in  harmony  with  the  repose  of  the 
architectural  arrangements  of  the  part  of  the  building  it 
adorned. 

The  Panathenaic  Festival,  which  was  one  of  great 
antiquity,  was  celebrated  in  honour  of  Athene,  and  derived 
its  name  from  the  custom  that  every  free-born  inhabitant  of 
Attica  was  entitled  to  assist  at  it.  There  were  two  festivals 
of  the  name;  the  lesser  celebrated  every  year;  the  greater, 
only  once  in  four  years,  in  the  third  year  of  each  Olympiad. 
On  the  frieze,  even  in  its  present  mutilated  state,  the  gen- 
eral character  of  the  Panathenaic  procession  may  be  easily 
made  out,  though  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  every 
incident  which  occurred  at  the  festival  is  depicted  on  the 
marbles.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  Lampadephoria  and 
gymnastic  exercises  are  omitted.  The  whole  mass  of  the 
people  are  represented  conveying  in  solemn  pomp  the 
Peplus  or  Sacred  Veil,  which  had  been  previously  worked 
in  the  Acropolis  by  young  virgins  selected  from  the  best 
families  in  Athens  to  the  Temple  of  Athene  Polias  where 
it  was  placed  probably  on  the  knees  of  the  statue  of  the 


THE  SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON  7 1 

goddess.  On  this  peplus  was  embroidered  the  Battle  of  the 
Gods  and  the  Giants ; Zeus  hurling  his  thunderbolts  against 
the  rebels,  and  Athene  seated  in  her  chariot  as  the  van- 
quisher of  Typhon  or  Enceladus. 

The  arrangement  of  the  procession  on  the  frieze  was  as 
follows : — On  the  west  side  were  to  be  seen  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  cavalcade  ; then  south  and  north  in  the  first 
half,  the  horsemen  of  Athens  galloping  in  files.  Next,  a 
number  of  chariots,  probably  those  which  had  gained  the 
victories  in  the  previous  Panathenaic  festivals.  Then 
further  on,  to  the  south,  old  men  and  women  of  the  city; 
and  on  the  north,  choruses  with  Auletae  and  Citharistae, 
and  the  bearers  of  variously  shaped  vessels,  and  close  to 
the  eastern  corners  on  both  sides,  the  bulls  and  other 
victims  with  their  attendants.  On  the  east  side,  sur- 
rounded by  the  virgins  who  bring  up  the  consecrated  gifts, 
and  the  presiding  magistrates  are  seated  Twelve  Deities, 
Zeus,  Hera,  with  Hebe,  Hephaestus,  Demeter,  the 
Dioscuri,  Hygeia,  Asclepius,  Poseidon,  Erechtheus,  Peitho, 
Aphrodite  with  Eros,  between  whom  a priestess  and  a 
priest  or  magistrate,  who  receives  the  peplus  from  a boy, 
form  the  central  group. 

Such  was  the  frieze  when  originally  perfect. 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE 
PARTHENON 

( Phidias , B.  C.  \88-432) 

CHARLES  WALDSTEIN 

HE  sculptures  of  the  Parthenon  are  the  most  widely 


known  of  all  works  of  Greek  art.  The  paucity  of 
our  information  concerning  these  works  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  though  to  us  they  are  supreme  works  of  Greek  art, 
they  were  not  to  the  Greeks  the  representative  works  of 
Phidias,  the  real  statues  by  the  master;  they  were  not 
temple-statues,  nor  athletic  statues,  but  works  of  archi- 
tectural decoration.  And  accordingly,  the  ancient  authors 
who  devote  page  upon  page  to  the  description  of  the 
Olympian  Zeus  or  the  Athene  Parthenos,  pass  by  the 
Metopes,  the  frieze,  and  the  pediments  of  the  Parthenon 
without  a word  of  comment.  The  two  short  passages  in 
Pausanias  referring  to  the  pediments  are  the  only  written 
description  concerning  the  decoration  of  the  Parthenon 
which  ancient  writers  have  handed  down  to  us.  Further- 
more, the  comparatively  few  figures  and  fragments  (not 
forming  in  the  eastern  pediment  the  central  or  important 
part  of  the  scene  represented)  are  deprived  of  the  arms  and 
hands  and  the  attributes  which  they  held.  These  attributes 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON  73 

were,  however,  the  plainest  and  most  commonly  under- 
stood language  for  indicating  the  special  meaning  of  each 
figure. 

The  data  concerning  the  eastern  pediment  of  the 
Parthenon  which  may  be  considered  to  be  definitely  certain 
are  the  following : (i)  There  are  five  figures  or  frag- 

ments of  figures  belonging  to  the  left  or  southern  angle  of 
the  pediment,  and  four  to  the  right  or  northern  ; and  these 
are  given  in  Carrey’s  drawings  (1674).  (2)  Pausanias  tells 

us  that  the  front  (or  eastern)  pediment  contained  a repre- 
sentation of  the  birth  of  Athene,  as  the  western  repre- 
sented the  strife  between  Athene  and  Poseidon  for  the  Attic 
soil.  (3)  From  analysis  of  other  representations  of 
Phidias,  such  as  that  of  the  birth  of  Pandora  on  the  base 
of  the  Athene  Parthenos  and  the  birth  of  Aphrodite  on  the 
base  of  the  Olympian  Zeus,  as  well  as  from  the  typical 
meaning  of  such  representations  in  Greek  art,  it  has  been 
universally  recognized  that  in  the  head,  arms  and  shoulder 
of  the  male  figure  rising  at  the  left  or  southern  angle  and 
driving  towards  the  centre  the  horses  whose  heads  and 
necks  appear  before  him,  we  have  the  sun-god,  Helios, 
driving  his  horses  ; while  in  the  descending  female  figure, 
driving  the  horses  whose  heads  are  just  visible  as  they 
descend  to  the  right  or  northern  angle,  we  have  Selene,  the 
moon-goddess,  driving  her  horses.  (4)  It  is  furthermore 
universally  admitted  that  the  centre  of  the  composition, 
of  which  no  complete  figure  is  now  extant,  nor  was  at  the 
time  that  Carrey  made  his  drawings,  contained  the  chief 


74  THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

gods  and  goddesses,  including  Zeus,  Athene,  Hephaestus, 
Dionysus,  Apollo,  Artemis,  Hermes. 

Here  the  facts  end,  and  what  remains  rests  upon  in- 
ference. 

We  may  assume  that  in  the  centre  was  represented  the 
moment  immediately  following  the  birth  of  Athene,  in 
which  Athene  stands  fully  armed  before  her  father  and  the 
admiring  gods  and  goddesses. 

Beginning  at  the  left  or  south  angle,  the  first  figure  is 
the  upper  part  of  Helios,  his  head,  neck,  arms  and  shoulders 
rising  out  of  the  water.  The  action  as  expressed  in  these 
limbs  is  that  of  energetic  rising,  fresh  and  vigorous.  This 
powerful  ascending  impetus  is  most  forcibly  expressed  in 
the  upper  part  of  this  figure  and  in  the  necks  and  heads  of 
the  horses  which  he  leads.  The  next  figure  towards  the 
centre  is  that  of  a nude  youthful  male  figure,  generally 
called  Theseus,  half-reclining,  half-seated  upon  the  skin  of 
some  animal  spread  over  a rock.  As  we  must  dwell  more 
specially  upon  the  interpretation  of  this  figure,  we  will 
leave  it  for  the  present  and  turn  to  the  other  figures.  The 
two  draped  female  figures  seated  side  by  side  have  been 
considered  to  be  Demeter  and  Persephone,  Peitho  and 
Aphrodite,  two  daughters  of  Cecrops,  and  the  two  Horae 
guarding  the  gates  of  Olympus.  The  latter  of  these  inter- 
pretations seems  to  me  to  have  most  in  its  favour. 

The  next  erect  figure  towards  the  centre  with  drapery 
flying  in  the  wind  is  considered  by  nearly  all  interpreters 
to  be  Iris,  the  fleet  messenger  of  the  gods. 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON  75 

At  the  other  angle  we  have,  corresponding  to  Helios 
with  his  horses,  the  upper  part  of  a female  figure  driving  a 
horse  of  which  but  a head  and  neck  are  remaining.  Here 
again  there  is  no  diversion  of  opinion  that  the  female  figure 
represents  Selene. 

The  remaining  three  female  figures  have  generally  been 
supposed  to  form  one  group,  and  have  been  interpreted 
accordingly  as  either  the  three  Fates,  or  as  the  three  sisters, 
the  daughters  of  Cecrops,  personifying  the  morning  dew, 
or  finally,  by  Briinn,  as  personifications  of  clouds.  But  it 
appears  to  me  beyond  a doubt  that  the  three  figures  do  not 
form  a group,  but  that  the  seated  figure  towards  the  centre 
is  distinctly  separated  from  the  other  two  figures  which  be- 
long together.  The  whole  action  of  the  upper  figure  is 
directed  away  from  the  others,  who,  on  their  part,  are  not 
immediately  affected  by  the  action  of  the  upper  one,  nor  is 
their  action  (entirely  centred  within  the  two  as  it  is)  directed 
towards  the  upper  one. 

Petersen  sees  in  the  upper  seated  figure  Hestia,  the  per- 
sonification of  the  human  hearth ; while  in  the  two  others 
he  sees  Aphrodite  reclining  in  the  lap  of  Peitho,  her  subor- 
dinate companion.  Of  all  the  interpretations  given  of  the 
upper  seated  figure,  this  one  of  Petersen’s  seems  to  me  to 
have  most  in  its  favour,  and  to  be  most  in  keeping  with 
the  firm,  steady  and  quiet  attitude  of  the  figure. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  examination  of  the  two  female 
figures,  we  must  return  to  the  reclining  male  figure  on  the 
other  side  of  the  pediment.  This  famous  figure  presents  a 


76  THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

perfect  type  of  youthful  strength,  without  any  exaggeration, 
in  which  each  part  and  limb  of  the  body  stands  out  in  har- 
monious proportion  to  the  other  parts  and  to  the  whole  of 
the  figure,  and  all  give  the  picture  of  harmonious  physical 
life.  For  a god,  his  position  thus  severed  from  the  main 
scene  would  be  out  of  keeping.  Briinn  was  the  first  to 
see  in  this  figure  a personification  of  nature.  When  once 
we  feel  convinced  that  this  figure  is  a mountain  god,  we 
shall  of  necessity  see  in  the  corresponding  figure  of  the 
other  side  a figure  partaking  of  the  same  character — that  is 
a personification  of  nature.  The  general  impression  of  the 
whole  figure  has  been  best  summed  up  by  Petersen  in  these 
words : w The  body  is  full  of  glowing  life,  as  fresh  and 
warm  as  marble  can  be,  and  the  folds — the  stronger  ones 
of  the  mantle  as  well  as  the  more  delicate  ones  of  the  under- 
garment— play  about  the  forms  with  thousandfold  move- 
ment, especially  over  lap  and  bosom,  like  softly-trembling 
waves  of  limpid  water  over  its  clear  and  lucent  bed.”  The 
study  of  the  style  shows  that  the  personification  is  of  the 
fluid  element.  The  results  of  our  examination  will  point 
to  the  one  conclusion  that  the  two  female  figures  are  per- 
sonifications of  Thalassa  and  Gaia,  the  Sea  and  the  Earth. 

It  is  well  known  from  ancient  authors  that  Phidias 
drew  his  conception  of  the  Olympian  Zeus  from  the  Iliad 
— namely,  the  passage  in  which  Zeus  accedes  to  the  prayer 
of  Thetis  to  protect  her  son  Achilles. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  after  the  age  of  Peisistratus  the 
Homeric  poems  were  much  read  and  studied.  The  sculp- 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON  77 


turesque  character  of  these  poems,  apart  from  their  popu- 
larity, would  naturally  before  all  others  suggest  themselves 
to  the  sculptor.  The  character  given  to  the  birth  of 
Athene  in  the  Homeric  hymn  to  Athene  is  thus  thoroughly 
cosmical.  I give  the  passage  here  in  Shelley’s  translation  : — 

“ Wonder  strange  possessed 
The  everlasting  gods  that  shape  to  see. 

Shaking  a javelin  keen,  impetuously 

Rush  from  the  crest  of  the  asgis-bearing  Jove. 

Fearfully  heaven  was  shaken  and  did  move 
Beneath  the  might  of  the  cerulean-eyed  ; 

Earth  dreadfully  resounded  far  and  wide. 

And,  lifted  from  his  depths,  the  sea  swelled  high 

In  purple  billows ; the  tide  suddenly 

Stood  still ; and  great  Hyperion’s  son  long  time 

Checked  his  swift  steeds ; till,  where  she  stood  sublime 

Pallas  from  her  immortal  shoulders  threw 

The  arms  divine.  Wise  Jove  rejoiced  to  view.” 

If  we  were  to  translate  into  sculpture  this  poetic  descrip- 
tion in  the  hymn  we  should  have  the  composition  of  the  east- 
ern pediment.  But  Phidias  was  in  practice  too  conscious  of 
the  essential  principles  of  his  art  to  make  any  attempt  to 
reproduce  great  effects  by  employing  the  same  means  as  the 
poet.  He  knew  that  sculpture  was  most  impressive  when 
most  monumental ; therefore  his  Olympus,  his  sea  and 
earth  are  not  trembling,  quaking,  and  roaring  with  the 
violence  of  a moment,  but  are  softened  down  to  a great 
rest  by  the  monumental  treatment  of  the  human  forms 
given  them. 


78  THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

Accepting,  then,  Briinn’s  interpretation  for  the  two  seated 
female  figures  in  the  left  half  of  the  pediment,  and  Peter- 
sen’s interpretation  of  the  upper  seated  female  figure  in  the 
other  half,  the  succession  of  figures  would  be  the  following: 
on  the  left  side,  Helios,  Olympus,  the  two  Horae,  Iris,  four 
or  five  gods  (not  extant) ; on  the  right  side,  Selene,  Tha- 
lassa,  Gaia,  Hestia,  Hermes,  and  four  or  five  gods  (not  ex- 
tant) ; the  centre  occupied  by  Zeus  and  Athene,  with 
Hephaestus  on  the  one  side,  and  a corresponding  figure  on 
the  other. 

As  in  the  Homeric  hymn,  the  birth  of  Athene  is  con- 
ceived, not  only  in  a purely  mythological,  but  also  in  a cos- 
mical  signification,  so  that  it  affects  not  only  the  personal 
gods,  who  wrapped  in  wonder  are  the  immediate  spectators, 
but  also  the  whole  of  the  universe,  the  celestial  spheres,  the 
earth  and  sea ; so  in  the  plastic  expression  of  the  same 
event,  we  shall  expect  to  find  besides  the  witnessing  gods 
the  personification  of  nature,  whose  presence  is  undoubt- 
edly warranted  by  the  extant  figures  of  Helios  and  Selene. 

The  whole  composition  evidently  has  its  beginning  at 
the  left  angle  of  the  pediment,  and  its  end  at  the  right. 
This  has  been  most  clearly  and  forcibly  indicated  by  the 
sculptor  in  the  arrangement  of  the  figures  at  either  end : 
Helios  turned  towards  the  centre,  and  ascending  at 
the  one  angle,  and  Selene,  whose  horses  are  turned  away 
from  the  centre,  descending  at  the  other.  This  is  not  the 
case  in  the  western  pediment,  which  contains  a scene  not 
cosmical  but  definitely  local.  Here  there  is  no  simple 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON  79 

point  of  beginning,  but  both  ends,  with  equal  force,  drive 
towards  the  centre.  In  the  eastern  pediment,  then,  the 
sculptor  has  most  clearly  indicated  that  our  eye  is  to  begin 
at  the  angle  containing  Helios,  and  the  direction  of  the 
movement  of  the  composition  is  again  most  clearly  given  in 
the  action  of  Helios  and  the  impulse  of  his  horses.  It  is 
an  upward  movement,  one  of  ascent  towards  the  higher  re- 
gions where  the  scene  takes  place  and  the  gods  dwell,  the 
summit  of  Mount  Olympus.  The  first  rays  of  the  sun 
strike  the  mountain  ; the  horses  of  the  sun-god’s  chariot 
rear  and  start  back  at  the  great  scene  of  the  birth  of  the 
clear-eyed  daughter  of  the  sky,  which  takes  place  on  the 
summit.  But  the  mountain-god  is  still  unaffected  by  the 
great  event  which  is  just  being  transmitted  by  Iris  to  one 
of  the  two  Horae  who  watch  at  the  gates  of  the  heavenly 
abode.  Here  Iris,  the  fleet  messenger  of  the  gods,  has  just 
imparted  the  news  of  the  birth  of  Athene ; she  has  come 
from  the  centre  of  action,  where  Hephaestus  has  just  dealt 
the  blow,  and  the  virgin  goddess,  fully  armed,  brandishing 
her  spear,  stands  before  her  father,  the  king  of  the  gods, 
and  the  assembled  deities,  and  all  are  wrapped  in  wonder- 
ment. Hera  and  Poseidon,  Apollo  and  Artemis,  Aphro- 
dite and  Ares,  Dionysus  and  Hermes — all  are  there.  We 
have  reached  the  highest  point,  the  centre  of  action,  the 
abode  of  the  gods,  and  we  now  descend  (as  is  indicated  by 
the  movement  of  the  figure  which  bounds  this  side  of  the 
composition,  Selene  with  her  descending  horses)  to  the 
lower  cosmical  spheres.  Not  only  to  the  wonderment  of 


80  THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON 

the  gods  is  Athene  born,  but  also  to  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind, the  whole  of  the  terrestrial  sphere,  earth  and  sea.  So 
a messenger  of  the  gods  (probably  Hermes)  brings  the  news 
to  this  terrestrial  sphere — to  Hestia,  the  personification  of 
the  human  hearth,  the  first  of  the  seated  female  figures,  and 
then  to  the  Earth  and  the  Sea  reclining  within  her  lap. 
And  far  at  the  end,  where  the  last  lines  of  this  composition 
die  away  like  the  finale  of  a great  symphony,  Selene  (re- 
minding us  of  the  motive  at  the  beginning)  turns  back  to 
give  one  more  look  over  the  sea  and  land  to  the  heights 
where  the  beautiful  scene  has  taken  place,  and  by  the  sea 
her  horses  descend  into  the  lower  realms  of  night. 

The  grandeur  of  the  surroundings  in  which  Phidias  has 
placed  the  central  scene  of  this  great  event  in  the  history  of 
the  universe  is  unrivalled  for  the  depth  and  breadth  of  the 
conceptions  coupled  with  the  clearness  and  simplicity  of  ex- 
pression. There  are  time  and  space,  the  celestial  and  ter- 
restrial sphere,  gods  with  mankind,  and  all  put  (especially 
when  the  attributes  were  extant)  into  recognizable,  tangible 
form,  no  less  grand  and  monumental  than  they  are  graceful 
and  harmonious.  The  whole  scene  is  bounded  by  the  as- 
cending sun  and  the  descending  moon,  fixing  the  time  to 
the  early  dawn,  and  indicating  the  limits  of  the  universe 
and  the  infinite  course  of  the  duration  of  time. 

Here  is  the  chief  distinctive  feature  of  Phidias  as  a 
Greek  and  as  a sculptor.  His  thoughts  as  a Greek,  and 
still  more  as  a sculptor,  immediately  took  plastic  shape  and 
form,  and  were  not  theoretical  “ philosophical  ” speculations. 


THE  EASTERN  PEDIMENT  OF  THE  PARTHENON  8 1 

He  lived  and  felt  with  his  inner  and  outer  eye  as  much  as 
with  his  intellect.  Whoever  has  stood  on  the  Acropolis,  and 
has  seen  the  sea  resting  in  the  arms  of  the  gulf,  clinging  to 
the  land  which  clasps  it  round  in  its  embrace,  and  has  seen 
the  moon  rise  over  that  sea,  can  vaguely  feel  how  in  the 
imagination  of  a Phidias  standing  on  the  same  spot  the 
scene  of  the  birth  of  Athene  took  shape : sun  and  moon, 
and  the  earth  and  the  sea,  and  all  they  tell  us,  grew  into 
the  harmonious  forms  of  visible  and  tangible  human  figures. 
For  to  such  a mind  thought  and  sight,  form  and  matter,  be- 
come one  in  the  harmony  of  art. 


THE  MARBLES  OF  JEGINA1 

( About  B.  C,  480) 

WALTER  H.  PATER 

IN  the  works  of  the  Asiatic  tradition,  in  the  marbles  of 
Nineveh,  for  instance,  and  in  the  early  Greek  art,  so 
far  as  we  can  see,  which  derives  from  it,  as,  for  example, 
in  the  archaic  remains  from  Cyprus,  the  form  of  man  is  in- 
adequate, and  below  the  measure  of  perfection  attained 
there  in  the  representation  of  the  lower  forms  of  life;  just 
as  in  the  little  reflective  art  of  Japan,  so  lovely  in  its  repro- 
duction of  flower  or  bird,  the  human  form  alone  comes  al- 
most as  a caricature,  or  is  at  least  untouched  by  any  higher 
ideal.  To  that  Asiatic  tradition,  then,  with  its  perfect 
craftsmanship,  its  consummate  skill  in  design,  its  power  of 
hand,  the  Dorian,  the  European,  the  true  Hellenic  influ- 
ence brought  a revelation  of  the  soul  and  body  of  man. 

And  we  come  at  last  to  a monument,  the  marbles  of 

1 The  Glyptothek  in  Munich  contains  no  greater  treasure  than  its  mar- 
bles, discovered  by  a company  of  English  and  German  scholars  in  ^Egina 
in  18 1 1.  They  were  bought  by  Prince  Ludwig  of  Bavaria  for  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  who  had  them  restored  by  Thorwaldsen  and  Wagner. 
These  figures  in  Parian  marble  once  adorned  the  pediments  of  Athene’s 
temple,  of  which  the  crumbling  columns  on  the  heights  of  ^Egina  still 
overlook  the  blue  waters  of  the  Saronic  Gulf.  In  both  groups  appeared  a 
conflict  about  the  body  of  a hero  fallen  at  the  feet  of  the  goddess  Athene 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  pediment. — Lucy  M.  Mitchell, 


MARBLES  OF  REGINA,  GLYPTOTHEK,  MUNICH 


THE  MARBLES  OF  /EGINA 


83 


Tlgina,  which  bears  upon  it  the  full  expression  of  this 
humanism, — to  a work,  in  which  in  the  presence  of  man, 
realized  with  complete  mastery  of  hand,  and  with  clear  ap- 
prehension of  how  he  actually  is  and  moves  and  looks,  is 
touched  with  the  freshest  sense  of  that  new-found,  inward 
value  ; the  energy  of  worthy  passions  purifying,  the  light  of 
his  reason  shining  through,  bodily  forms  and  motions, 
solemnized,  attractive,  pathetic.  We  have  reached  an 
extant  work,  real  and  visible,  of  an  importance  out 
of  all  proportion  to  anything  actually  remaining  of  earlier 
art. 

These  fifteen  figures  of  Parian  marble,  of  about  two- 
thirds  the  size  of  life,  forming,  with  some  deficiencies,  the 
east  and  west  gables  of  a temple  of  Athene,  the  ruins  of 
which  still  stand  on  a hillside  by  the  seashore,  in  a remote 
part  of  the  island  of  iTgina,  were  discovered  in  the  year 
18 1 1,  and  having  been  purchased  by  the  Crown  Prince, 
afterwards  Louis  I.,  of  Bavaria,  are  now  the  great  ornament 
of  the  Glyptothek,  or  Museum  of  Sculpture,  at  Munich. 
The  group  in  each  gable  consisted  of  eleven  figures ; and  of 
the  fifteen  figures  discovered,  five  belong  to  the  eastern, 
ten  to  the  western,  gable,  so  that  the  western  gable  is  com- 
plete with  the  exception  of  one  figure,  which  should  stand 
where  the  beautiful  figure,  borrowed  from  the  eastern 
gable,  bending  down  towards  the  fallen  leader,  at  Munich 
actually  is  ; certain  fragments  showing  that  the  lost  figure 
corresponded  essentially  to  this,  which  has  therefore  been 
transferred  hither  from  its  place  in  the  less  complete  group 


84 


THE  MARBLES  OF  /EGINA 


to  which  it  properly  belongs.  For  there  are  two  legitimate 
ways  or  motives  in  the  restoration  of  ancient  sculpture,  the 
antiquarian  and  aesthetic,  as  they  may  be  termed,  respect- 
ively; the  former  limiting  itself  to  the  bare  presentation  of 
what  actually  remains  of  the  ancient  work,  braving  all 
shock  to  living  eyes  from  the  mutilated  nose  or  chin ; while 
the  latter,  the  aesthetic  method,  requires  that,  with  the  least 
possible  addition  or  interference,  by  the  most  skilful  living 
hand  procurable,  the  object  shall  be  made  to  please,  or  at 
least  content  the  living  eye,  seeking  enjoyment,  and  not  a 
bare  fact  of  science,  in  the  spectacle  of  ancient  art.  This 
latter  way  of  restoration, — the  aesthetic  way, — followed  by 
the  famous  connoisseurs  of  the  Renaissance,  has  been  fol- 
lowed here ; and  the  visitor  to  Munich  actually  sees  the 
marbles  of  /Egina,  as  restored  after  a model  by  the  tasteful 
hand  of  Thorwaldsen. 

Different  views  have,  however,  been  maintained  as  to 
the  right  grouping  of  the  figures ; but  the  composition  of 
the  two  groups  was  apparently  similar,  not  only  in  general 
character,  but  in  a certain  degree  of  correspondence  of  all 
the  figures,  each  to  each.  And  in  both  the  subject  is  a com- 
bat,— a combat  between  Greeks  and  Asiatics  concerning 
the  body  of  a Greek  hero,  fallen  among  the  foemen, — an 
incident  so  characteristic  of  the  poetry  of  the  heroic  wars. 
In  both  cases,  Athene,  whose  temple  this  sculpture  was 
designed  to  decorate,  intervenes,  her  image  being  complete 
in  the  western  gable,  the  head  and  some  other  fragments  re- 
maining of  that  in  the  eastern.  The  incidents  represented 


THE  MARBLES  OF  iEGINA 


85 


were  probably  chosen  with  reference  to  the  traditions  of 
/Egina  in  connection  with  the  Trojan  war.  Greek  legend 
is  ever  deeply  coloured  by  local  interest  and  sentiment,  and 
this  monument  probably  celebrates  Telamon,  and  Ajax  his 
son,  the  heroes  who  established  the  fame  of  iEgina,  and 
whom  the  united  Greeks,  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of 
Salamis,  in  which  the  iEginetans  were  distinguished  above 
all  other  Greeks  in  bravery,  invited  as  their  peculiar  spirit- 
ual allies  from  that  island. 

Accordingly,  antiquarians  are,  for  the  most  part,  of 
opinion  that  the  eastern  gable  represents  the  combat  of 
Hercules  (Hercules  being  the  only  figure  among  the  war- 
riors certainly  to  be  identified)  and  of  his  comrade  Tela- 
mon, against  Laomedon  of  Troy,  in  which,  properly, 
Hercules  was  leader,  but  here,  as  squire  and  archer,  is 
made  to  give  the  first  place  to  Telamon,  as  the  titular  hero 
of  the  place.  Opinion  is  not  so  definite  regarding  the  sub- 
ject of  the  western  gable,  which,  however,  probably  rep- 
resents the  combat  between  the  Greeks  and  Trojans  over 
the  body  of  Patroclus.  In  both  cases  an  iEginetan  hero,  in 
the  eastern  gable  Telamon,  in  the  western  his  son  Ajax,  is 
represented  in  the  extreme  crisis  of  battle,  such  a crisis  as, 
according  to  the  deep  religiousness  of  the  Greeks  of  that 
age,  was  a motive  for  the  visible  intervention  of  the  goddess 
in  favour  of  her  chosen  people. 

Opinion  as  to  the  date  of  the  work,  based  mainly  on  the 
characteristics  of  the  work  itself,  has  varied  within  a period 
ranging  from  the  middle  of  the  sixtieth  to  the  middle  of  the 


86 


THE  MARBLES  OF  i*EGINA 


seventieth  Olympiad,  inclining  on  the  whole  to  the  later 
date,  in  the  period  of  the  Ionian  revolt  against  Persia,  and  a 
few  years  earlier  than  the  battle  of  Marathon. 

In  this  monument,  then,  we  have  a revelation  in  the 
sphere  of  art  of  the  temper  which  made  the  victories  of 
Marathon  and  Salamis  possible,  of  the  true  spirit  of  Greek 
chivalry  as  displayed  in  the  Persian  war,  and  in  the  highly 
ideal  conception  of  its  events,  expressed  in  Herodotus  and 
approving  itself  minutely  to  the  minds  of  the  Greeks,  as  a 
series  of  affairs  in  which  the  gods  and  heroes  of  old  time 
personally  intervened,  and  that  not  as  mere  shadows.  It 
was  natural  that  the  high-pitched  temper,  the  stress  of 
thought  and  feeling,  which  ended  in  the  final  conflict  of 
Greek  liberty  with  Asiatic  barbarism,  should  stimulate  quite 
a new  interest  in  the  poetic  legends  of  the  earlier  conflict 
between  them  in  the  heroic  age.  As  the  events  of  the 
Crusades  and  the  chivalrous  spirit  of  that  period  leading 
men’s  minds  back  to  ponder  over  the  deeds  of  Charlemagne 
and  his  paladins,  gave  birth  to  the  composition  of  the  Song 
of  Roland , just  so  this  iEginetan  sculpture  displays  the 
Greeks  of  a later  age  feeding  their  enthusiasm  on  the 
legend  of  a distant  past,  and  is  a link  between  Herodotus 
and  Homer.  In  those  ideal  figures,  pensive  a little  from 
the  first,  we  may  suppose,  with  the  shadowiness  of  a past 
age,  we  may  yet  see  how  Greeks  of  the  time  of  Themis- 
tocles  really  conceived  of  Homeric  knight  and  squire. 

Some  other  fragments  of  art,  also  discovered  in  iEgina, 
and  supposed  to  be  contemporary  with  the  temple  of 


THE  MARBLES  OF  REGINA 


87 


Athene,  tend,  by  their  roughness  and  immaturity,  to  show 
that  this  small  building,  so  united  in  its  effect,  so  complete 
in  its  simplicity,  in  the  symmetry  of  its  two  main  groups  of 
sculpture,  was  the  perfect  artistic  flower  of  its  time  and 
place.  Yet  within  the  limits  of  this  simple  unity,  so  im- 
portant an  element  in  the  charm  and  impressiveness  of  the 
place,  a certain  inequality  of  design  and  execution  may  be 
detected ; the  hand  of  a slightly  earlier  master,  probably, 
having  worked  in  the  western  gable,  while  the  master  of 
the  eastern  gable  has  gone  some  steps  farther  than  he  in 
fineness  and  power  of  expression ; the  figure  of  the  sup- 
posed Ajax,  stooping  forward  in  the  present  arrangement  of 
the  western  group,  but  really  borrowed,  as  I said,  from  the 
eastern,  and  which  has  in  it  something  above  the  type  of 
the  figures  grouped  round  it,  being  this  later  sculptor’s 
work.  Yet  Overbeck,  who  has  elaborated  the  points  of 
this  distinction  of  styles,  commends  without  reserve  the 
technical  excellence  of  the  whole  work,  executed,  as  he 
says,  “ with  an  application  of  all  known  instruments  of 
sculpture;  the  delicate  calculation  of  weight  in  the  compo- 
sition of  the  several  parts,  allowing  the  artist  to  dispense 
with  all  artificial  supports,  and  to  set  his  figures,  with  all 
their  complex  motions,  and  yet  with  plinths  only  three 
inches  thick,  into  the  basis  of  the  gable ; the  bold  use  of 
the  chisel,  which  wrought  the  shield,  on  the  freely-held 
arm,  down  to  a thickness  of  scarcely  three  inches  ; the  fine- 
ness of  the  execution,  even  in  parts  of  the  work  invisible 
to  an  ordinary  spectator,  in  the  diligent  finishing  of  which 


88 


THE  MARBLES  OF  iEGINA 


the  only  motive  of  the  artist  was  to  satisfy  his  own  convic- 
tion as  to  the  nature  of  good  sculpture.” 

It  was  the  Dorian  cities,  Plato  tells  us,  which  first  shook 
off  the  false  Asiatic  shame,  and  stripped  off  their  clothing 
for  purposes  of  exercise  and  training  in  the  gymnasium,  ; and 
it  was  part  of  the  Dorian  or  European  influence  to  assert 
the  value  in  art  of  the  unveiled  and  healthy  human  form. 
And  here  the  artists  of  iEgina,  notwithstanding  Homer’s 
description  of  Greek  armour,  glowing  like  the  sun  itself, 
have  displayed  the  Greek  warriors — Greek  and  Trojan 
alike— not  in  the  equipments  they  would  really  have  worn, 
but  naked, — flesh  fairer  than  that  golden  armour,  though 
more  subdued  and  tranquil  in  effect  on  the  spectator,  the 
undraped  form  of  man  coming  like  an  embodiment  of  the 
Hellenic  spirit,  and  as  an  element  of  temperance  into  the 
somewhat  gaudy  spectacle  of  Asiatic,  or  archaic  art.  Paris 
alone  bears  his  daily  trappings,  characteristically, — a coat 
of  golden  scale-work,  the  scales  set  on  a lining  of  canvas  or 
leather,  shifting  deftly  over  the  delicate  body  beneath,  and 
represented  on  the  gable  by  gilding,  or  real  gilt  metal  per- 
haps. 

It  was  characteristic  also  of  that  more  truly  Hellenic 
art — another  element  of  its  temperance — to  adopt  the  use 
of  marble  in  its  works ; and  the  material  of  these  figures  is 
the  white  marble  of  Paros.  Traces  of  colour  have  how- 
ever been  found  on  certain  parts  of  them.  The  outer  sur- 
faces of  the  shields  and  helmets  have  been  blue ; their 
inner  parts  and  the  crests  of  the  helmets,  red  ; the  hem  of 


THE  MARBLES  OF  /EGINA 


89 


the  drapery  of  Athene,  the  edges  of  her  sandals,  the  plinths 
on  which  the  figures  stand,  also  red ; one  quiver  red,  an- 
other blue ; the  eyes  and  lips,  too,  coloured  ; perhaps,  the 
hair.  There  was  just  a limited  and  conventionalized  use 
of  colour,  in  effect,  upon  the  marble. 

And  although  the  actual  material  of  these  figures  is 
marble,  its  coolness  and  massiveness  suiting  the  growing 
severity  of  Greek  thought,  yet  they  have  their  reminis- 
cences of  work  in  bronze,  in  a certain  slimness  and  tenuity, 
a certain  dainty  lightness  of  poise  in  their  grouping,  which 
remains  in  the  memory  as  a peculiar  note  of  their  style ; 
the  possibility  of  such  easy  and  graceful  balancing  being 
one  of  the  privileges  or  opportunities  of  statuary  in  cast 
metal,  of  that  hollow  casting  in  which  the  whole  weight  of 
the  work  is  so  much  less  than  that  of  a work  of  equal  size 
in  marble,  and  which  permits  a so  much  wider  and  freer 
disposition  of  the  parts  about  its  centre  of  gravity.  In 
iEgina  the  tradition  of  metal  work  seems  to  have  been 
strong,  and  Onatas,  whose  name  is  closely  connected  with 
iTgina,  and  who  is  contemporary  with  the  presumably 
later  portion  of  this  monument,  was  above  all  a worker  in 
bronze.  Here  again,  in  this  lurking  spirit  of  metal  work, 
we  have  a new  element  of  complexity  in  the  character  of 
these  precious  remains.  And  then,  to  compass  the  whole 
work  in  our  imagination,  we  must  conceive  yet  another 
element  in  the  conjoint  effect  : metal  being  actually  mingled 
with  the  marble,  brought  thus  to  its  daintiest  point  of  re- 
finement, as  the  little  holes  indicate,  bored  into  the  marble 


90  THE  MARBLES  OF  REGINA 

figures  for  the  attachment  of  certain  accessories  in  bronze 
— lances,  swords,  bows,  the  Medusa  also  on  the  agis  of 
Athene,  and  its  fringe  of  little  snakes. 

And  as  there  was  no  adequate  consciousness  and  recogni- 
tion of  the  essentials  of  man’s  nature  in  the  older,  oriental 
art,  so  there  is  no  pathos,  no  hwnanity  in  the  more  special 
sense,  but  a kind  of  hardness  and  cruelty  rather,  in  those 
oft-repeated,  long,  matter-of-fact  processions,  on  the  marbles 
of  Nineveh,  of  slave-like  soldiers  on  their  way  to  battle 
mechanically,  or  of  captives  on  their  way  to  slavery  or 
death,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  great  king.  These  Greek 
marbles,  on  the  contrary,  with  that  figure  yearning  forward 
so  graciously  to  the  fallen  leader,  are  deeply  impressed  with 
a natural  pathetic  effect — the  true  reflection  again  of  the 
temper  of  Homer  in  speaking  of  war.  Ares,  the  god  of 
war  himself,  we  must  remember,  is,  according  to  his  origi- 
nal import,  the  god  of  storms,  of  winter  raging  among  the 
forests  of  the  Thracian  mountains,  a brother  of  the  north 
wind.  Afterwards  only,  surviving  many  minor  gods  of 
war,  he  becomes  a leader  of  hosts,  a sort  of  divine  knight 
and  patron  of  knighthood  ; and  through  the  old  intricate 
connection  of  love  and  war,  and  that  amorousness  which  is 
the  universally  conceded  privilege  of  the  soldier’s  life,  he 
comes  to  be  very  near  Aphrodite, — the  paramour  of  the 
goddess  of  physical  beauty.  So  that  the  idea  of  a sort  of 
soft  dalliance  mingles,  in  his  character,  so  unlike  that  of 
the  Christian  leader,  Saint  George,  with  the  idea  of  savage, 
warlike  impulses ; the  fair,  soft  creature  suddenly  raging 


THE  MARBLES  OF  /EGINA  9 1 

like  a storm,  to  which,  in  its  various  wild  incidents,  war  is 
constantly  likened  in  Homer;  the  effects  of  delicate  youth 
and  of  tempest  blending,  in  Ares,  into  one  expression,  not 
without  that  cruelty  which  mingles  also,  like  the  influence 
of  some  malign  fate  upon  him,  with  the  finer  characteristics 
of  Achilles,  who  is  a kind  of  merely  human  double  of  Ares. 
And  in  Homer’s  impressions  of  war  the  same  elements  are 
blent, — the  delicacy,  the  beauty  of  youth,  especially,  mak- 
ing it  so  fit  for  the  purposes  of  love,  spoiled  and  wasted  by 
the  random  flood  and  fire  of  a violent  tempest ; the  glitter- 
ing beauty  of  the  Greek  u war-men,”  expressed  in  so  many 
brilliant  figures,  and  the  splendour  of  their  equipments, 
in  collision  with  the  miserable  accidents  of  battle,  and 
the  grotesque  indignities  of  death  in  it,  brought  home 
to  our  fancy  by  a hundred  pathetic  incidents, — the  sword 
hot  with  slaughter,  the  stifling  blood  in  the  throat,  the 
spoiling  of  the  body  in  every  member  severally.  He 
thinks  of  and  records,  at  his  early  ending,  the  distant 
home  from  which  the  boy  came,  who  goes  stumbling 
now,  just  stricken  so  wretchedly,  his  bowels  in  his 
hands.  He  pushes  the  expression  of  this  contrast  to  the 
macabre  even,  suggesting  the  approach  of  those  lower 
forms  of  life  which  await  to-morrow  the  fair  bodies  of  the 
heroes,  who  strive  and  fall  to-day  like  these  in  the  iEginetan 
gables.  For  it  is  just  that  twofold  sentiment  which  this 
sculpture  has  embodied.  The  seemingly  stronger  hand 
which  wrought  the  eastern  gable  has  shown  itself  strongest 
in  the  rigid  expression  of  the  truth  of  pain,  in  the  mouth  of 


92 


THE  MARBLES  OF  JEGINA 


the  famous  recumbent  figure  on  the  extreme  left,  the  lips  just 
open  at  the  corner,  and  in  the  hard-shut  lips  of  Hercules. 
Otherwise,  these  figures  all  smile  faintly,  almost  like  the 
monumental  effigies  of  the  Middle  Age,  with  a smile  which, 
even  if  it  be  but  a result  of  the  mere  conventionality  of  an 
art  still  somewhat  immature,  has  just  the  pathetic  effect  of 
Homer’s  conventional  epithet  “ tender,”  when  he  speaks 
of  the  flesh  of  his  heroes. 

And  together  with  this  touching  power  there  is  also  in 
this  work  the  effect  of  an  early  simplicity,  the  charm  of 
its  limitations.  For  as  art  which  has  passed  its  prime  has 
sometimes  the  charm  of  an  absolute  refinement  in  taste 
and  workmanship,  so  immature  art  also,  as  we  now  see,  has 
its  own  attractiveness  in  the  naivete , the  freshness  of  spirit, 
which  finds  power  and  interest  in  simple  motives  of  feeling, 
and  in  the  freshness  of  hand,  which  has  a sense  of  enjoy- 
ment in  mechanical  processes  still  performed  unmechanically, 
in  the  spending  of  care  and  intelligence  on  every  touch. 
As  regards  Italian  art,  the  sculpture  and  paintings  of  the 
earlier  Renaissance,  the  aesthetic  value  of  this  naivete  is 
well  understood ; but  it  has  its  value  in  Greek  sculpture 
also.  There,  too,  is  a succession  of  phases  through  which 
the  artistic  power  and  purpose  grew  to  maturity,  with  the 
enduring  charm  of  an  unconventional,  unsophisticated 
freshness,  in  that  very  early  stage  of  it  illustrated  by  these 
marbles  of  AEgina,  not  less  than  in  the  work  of  Verrocchio 
and  Mino  of  Fiesole.  Effects  of  this  we  may  note  in  that 
sculpture  of  JEgina,  not  merely  in  the  simplicity,  or  mon- 


THE  MARBLES  OF  /EGINA 


93 


otony  even,  of  the  whole  composition,  and  in  the  exact 
and  formal  correspondence  of  one  gable  to  the  other,  but 
in  the  simple  readiness  with  which  the  designer  makes  the 
two  second  spearmen  kneel,  against  the  probability  of  the 
thing,  so  as  just  to  fill  the  space  he  has  to  compose  in. 
The  profiles  are  still  not  yet  of  the  fully  developed  Greek 
type,  but  have  a somewhat  sharp  prominence  of  nose  and 
chin,  as  in  Etrurian  design,  in  the  early  sculpture  of  Cyprus, 
and  in  the  earlier  Greek  vases  ; and  the  general  proportions 
of  the  body  in  relation  to  the  shoulders  are  still  somewhat 
archaically  slim.  But  then  the  workman  is  at  work  in  dry 
earnestness,  with  a sort  of  hard  strength  in  detail,  a scrupu- 
lousness verging  on  stiffness,  like  that  of  an  early  Florentine 
painter;  he  communicates  to  us  his  still  youthful  sense  of 
pleasure  in  the  experience  of  the  first  rudimentary  diffi- 
culties of  his  art  overcome.  And  with  all,  these  figures 
have  in  them  a true  expression  of  life,  of  animation.  In 
this  monument  of  Greek  chivalry,  pensive  and  visionary  as 
it  may  seem,  these  old  Greek  knights  live  with  a truth  like 
that  of  Homer  or  Chaucer.  In  a sort  of  stiff  grace,  com- 
bined with  a sense  of  things  bright  or  sorrowful  directly  felt, 
the  iEginetan  workman  is  as  it  were  the  Chaucer  of  Greek 
sculpture. 


NIOBE 

(. Attributed,  to  Scopas  of  Paros , B.  C.  420  or  416) 
PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY 


HIS  figure  is  probably  the  most  consummate  personi- 


fication of  loveliness  with  regard  to  its  countenance, 
as  that  of  the  Apollo  of  the  Vatican  is  with  regard  to  its 
entire  form,  that  remains  to  us  of  Greek  Antiquity.  It  is  a 
colossal  figure ; the  size  of  a work  of  art  rather  adds  to  its 
beauty,  because  it  allows  the  spectator  the  choice  of  a greater 
number  of  points  of  view,  in  which  to  catch  a greater 
number  of  the  infinite  modes  of  expression  of  which  any 
form  approaching  ideal  beauty  is  necessarily  composed,  of  a 
mother  in  the  act  of  sheltering  from  some  divine  and  inevi- 
table peril,  the  last,  we  will  imagine,  of  her  surviving  children. 

The  child,  terrified  we  may  conceive  at  the  strange 
destruction  of  all  its  kindred,  has  fled  to  its  mother,  and 
hiding  its  head  in  the  folds  of  her  robe  and  casting  up  one 
arm  as  in  a passionate  appeal  for  defense  from  her,  where  it 
never  before  could  have  been  sought  in  vain,  seems  in  the 
marble  to  have  scarcely  suspended  the  motion  of  her  terror ; 
as  though  conceived  to  be  yet  in  the  act  of  arrival.  The  child 
is  clothed  in  a thin  tunic  of  delicatest  woof,  and  her  hair  is 
gathered  on  her  head  into  a knot,  probably  by  that  mother 
whose  care  will  never  gather  it  again.  Niobe  is  enveloped 


NIOBE,  UFFIZI,  FLORENCE 


x : 


NIOBE 


95 


in  profuse  drapery,  a portion  of  which  the  left  hand  has 
gathered  up  and  is  in  the  act  of  extending  it  over  the  child 
in  the  instinct  of  defending  her  from  what  reason  knows  to 
be  inevitable.  The  right — as  the  restorer  has  rightly  com- 
prehended, is  gathering  up  her  child  to  her  and  with  a like 
instinctive  gesture  is  encouraging  by  its  gentle  pressure  the 
child  to  believe  that  it  can  give  security.  The  countenance 
which  is  the  consummation  of  feminine  majesty  and  loveli- 
ness, beyond  which  the  imagination  scarcely  doubts  that  it 
can  conceive  anything,  that  masterpiece  of  the  poetic  har- 
mony of  marble,  expresses  other  feelings.  There  is  em- 
bodied a sense  of  the  inevitable  and  rapid  destiny  which  is  con- 
summating around  her  as  if  it  were  already  over.  It  seems 
as  if  despair  and  beauty  had  combined  and  produced  noth- 
ing but  the  sublime  loveliness  of  grief.  As  the  motions  of 
the  form  expressed  the  instinctive  sense  of  the  possibility  of 
protecting  the  child,  and  the  accustomed  and  affectionate 
assurance  that  she  would  find  protection  within  her  arms,  so 
reason  and  imagination  speak  in  the  countenance  the  cer- 
tainty that  no  mortal  defense  is  of  avail. 

There  is  no  terror  in  the  countenance — only  grief — deep 
grief.  There  is  no  anger — of  what  avail  is  indignation 
against  what  is  known  to  be  omnipotent  ? There  is  no 
selfish  shrinking  from  personal  pain  ; there  is  no  panic  at 
supernatural  agency— -there  is  no  adverting  to  herself  as  her- 
self— the  calamity  is  mightier  than  to  leave  scope  for  such 
emotion. 

Everything  is  swallowed  up  in  sorrow. — Her  countenance, 


96 


NIOBE 


in  assured  expectation  of  the  arrow  piercing  its  victim  in  her 
embrace,  is  fixed  on  her  omnipotent  enemy.  The  pathetic 
beauty  of  the  mere  expression  of  her  tender  and  serene 
despair,  which  is  yet  so  profound  and  so  incapable  of  being 
ever  worn  away,  is  beyond  any  effect  of  sculpture. — As  soon 
as  the  arrow  shall  have  pierced  her  last  child,  the  fable  that 
she  was  dissolved  into  a fountain  of  tears,  will  be  but  a 
feeble  emblem  of  the  sadness  of  despair,  in  which  the  years 
of  her  remaining  life,  we  feel,  must  flow  away. 

It  is  difficult  to  speak  of  the  beauty  of  her  countenance, 
or  to  make  intelligible  in  words  the  forms  from  which  such 
astonishing  loveliness  results.  The  head,  resting  somewhat 
backward,  upon  the  full  and  flowing  contour  of  the  neck,  is 
in  the  act  of  watching  an  event  momently  to  arrive.  The 
hair  is  delicately  divided  on  the  forehead,  and  a gentle 
beauty  gleams  from  the  broad  and  clear  forehead,  over  which 
its  strings  are  drawn.  The  face  is  altogether  broad,  and  the 
features  conceived  with  the  daring  harmony  of  a sense  of 
power.  In  this  respect,  it  resembles  the  careless  majesty 
which  Nature  stamps  upon  those  rare  masterpieces  of  her 
creation,  harmonizing  them  as  it  were  from  the  harmony  of 
the  spirit  within.  Yet  all  this  not  only  consists  with  but  is 
the  cause  of  the  subtlest  delicacy  of  that  clear  and  tender 
beauty  which  is  the  expression  at  once  of  innocence  and 
sublimity  of  soul,  of  purity  and  strength,  of  all  that  which 
touches  the  most  removed  and  divine  of  the  strings  of  that 
which  makes  music  within  my  thoughts,  and  which  shakes 
with  astonishment  my  most  superficial  faculties.  Compare 


NIOBE  97 

for  this  effect  the  countenance  as  seen  in  front  and  as  seen 
from  under  the  left  arm,  moving  to  the  right  and  towards 
the  statue,  until  the  line  of  the  forehead  shall  coincide  with 
that  of  the  wrist. 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 

( Fifth  Century  B . C.) 

WALTER  COPLAND  PERRY 

HE  catastrophe  of  the  once  proud  queen  of  Thebes,  in 


which  she  retains  nothing  of  her  former  nature  but 
the  sense  of  bereavement  and  the  power  of  tears,  had  precisely 
the  mingled  elements  of  beauty,  pathos  and  thrilling  tragic 
interest  which  would  draw  the  attention  of  the  younger  At- 
tic school.  We  are  not  surprised  therefore  to  find  in  Pliny  a 
brief  notice  of  a group  of  Niobe  and  her  children  concern- 
ing which  he  adds  that  it  was  doubted  whether  it  was  the 
work  of  Praxiteles  or  Scopas.  The  question  will  in  all 
probability  never  be  settled ; but  we  are  inclined  to  trace  in 
the  motif  and  treatment  of  this  beautiful  work  the  pathetic 
and  excitable  temperament  of  Scopas.  It  is  indeed  attrib- 
uted to  Praxiteles  in  two  epigrams,  but  they  are  light  in  the 
balance  against  the  doubts  of  Pliny.  It  stood,  he  says,  in 
the  Temple  of  Apollo,  which  was  erected  about  715  A.  u.  c. 
(b.  c.  38)  by  Caius  Sosius,  who  was  Antony’s  legate  in  Syria 
and  Cilicia.  Hence  it  has  been  plausibly  conjectured  that 
Sosius  brought  it  from  Seleucia  on  the  Calycadnus  in 
Cilicia,  and  displayed  it  at  his  triumph  for  his  victory  over 
Judaea  in  35  b.  c. 

A large  number  of  statues,  which  evidently  represented 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


99 


the  same  scene,  were  discovered  in  1583  in  a vigna  near 
the  Lateran  at  Rome,  and  after  passing  through  various 
hands  were  acquired  by  Leopold,  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany, 
in  1775,  and  have  ever  since  been  one  of  the  chief  glories 
of  the  Uffizi  Palace  at  Florence. 

The  scene  is  one  which  irresistibly  carries  our  thoughts 
to  what  has  preceded  and  must  follow  it.  It  represents  not 
so  much  an  action  as  a state  of  feeling.  A moment  be- 
fore, all  was  peace,  prosperity,  and  joy ; a moment  after, 
and  there  will  be  peace  again,  but  it  will  be  the  eternal 
peace  of  death.  The  noiseless  arrows  of  the  unseen  deities 
are  already  flying  from  either  side,  and  two  of  the  children, 
a son  and  a daughter,  lie  prostrate  on  the  ground  in  the 
agonies  of  death.  Others,  fatally  wounded,  are  tottering 
to  their  fall ; and  the  rest  are  fleeing  from  the  terror,  like 
a frightened  herd  of  deer.  Yet  fear  is  not  the  only  emo- 
tion manifested.  There  are  touching  incidents  of  self- 
forgetfulness  in  the  desire  to  help  and  save : a brother 
supporting  the  drooping  form  of  a sister;  the  attendant 
slave  (pedagogics)  busying  himself  lees  about  his  own  safety 
than  that  of  his  tender  charge.  Above  them  all  towers  the 
grand  figure  of  the  mother,  on  whose  devoted  head  these 
ruins  fall,  pre-eminent,  not  in  stature  and  beauty  alone 
(digna  dea  facies ),  but  in  the  dignity  of  her  divine  despair. 
Without  any  further  attempt  to  flee  or  to  save  herself,  she 
gazes  upwards  with  a wistful  but  hopeless  glance  which 
stirs  the  inmost  chords  of  the  soul.  With  the  maternal 
instinct  still  strong  in  her  heart  she  folds  the  tender 


100 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


shrinking  form  of  her  youngest  daughter  to  her  lap,  and 
tries  to  shield  her  with  her  own  person  from  the  coming 
death. 

On  its  first  discovery  the  Florentine  group  was  hailed 
without  hesitation  by  the  credulous  enthusiasm  of  the  age 
as  the  very  work  of  Scopas,  or  Praxiteles,  mentioned  by 
Pliny.  Winckelmann,  too,  was  deceived,  and  said  that  no 
one  as  yet  had  expressed  a doubt  of  its  originality.  Closer 
examination,  however,  gave  rise  to  doubts,  to  which  the 
acute  and  unsparing  Mengs  gave  loud  and  decided  utter- 
ance. He  brought  forward  sufficient  reason  for  declaring 
that  not  one  of  the  figures  could  be  regarded  as  the  work 
of  a great  Greek  master.  This  apparently  hasty  and 
harsh  judgment  was  more  generally  acquiesced  in  after  the 
great  discoveries  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  which  brought 
to  light  undoubted  original  works  of  Greek  art  in  the 
sculptures  of  iEgina,  Olympia,  the  Theseion  and  the 
Parthenon,  and  established  a standard  by  which  previously 
known  works  could  be  fairly  tested.  Still  more  important 
in  the  case  before  us  was  the  discovery  of  duplicates  of 
some  of  the  principal  Niobid  statues  at  Florence.  The 
famous  Daughter  of  Niobe  in  the  Chiaramonti  Gallery  in 
the  Vatican  is  immeasurably  superior  to  the  corresponding 
figure  in  the  Uffizi;  and,  indeed,  as  it  is  of  Parian  marble, 
some  writers  regard  it  as  belonging  to  the  original  group. 
Canova  discovered  another  fragmentary  group  in  the 
Vatican  of  a young  girl  wounded  by  an  arrow  in  the  left 
breast,  and  leaning  against  a youthful  male  figure,  which 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


101 


corresponds  exactly  with  a portion  of  the  Florentine  group. 
Some  writers  would  bestow  the  name  of  Niobid  on  the 
well-known  and  most  beautiful  figure  of  a kneeling  youth, 
generally  called  llioneus , in  the  Glyptothek  at  Munich ; 
and  even  Friederichs  seems  half  inclined  to  the  same 
opinion.  llioneus,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  is  the 
name  given  by  Ovid  to  the  youngest  son  of  Niobe,  who 
alone  touched  the  heart  of  Phoebus  by  his  prayers ; but  all 
too  late. 

The  best  authorities,  however,  on  the  ground  of  the 
entire  nudity  of  this  figure,  and  for  other  weighty  reasons, 
have  finally  decided  against  its  claims  to  be  placed  in  the 
Florentine  group,  though  all  allow  that  it  is  an  original 
Greek  work  of  the  highest  merit. 

On  the  other  hand,  several  of  the  figures  found  in  the 
same  place  as  the  Niobids  have  been  unanimously  excluded 
from  all  connexion  with  them ; e.  £.,  a Discobolus ; the 
well-known  Wrestlers  in  the  Tribune  at  Florence;  a 
Polyhymnia;  and  a horse. 

It  is  generally  assumed  that  the  number  of  figures  was 
originally  seventeen — viz.,  Niobe  herself,  fourteen  chil- 
dren, a Paedagogus,  and,  as  a pendant  to  him,  a Trophos 
(female  nurse).  Of  these  we  possess  twelve — Niobe,  six 
sons,  four  daughters,  and  the  Paedagogue.  From  the  great 
superiority  in  the  statue  of  the  Queen  herself,  as  central 
figure,  and  the  difference  in  the  height  of  the  other  figures, 
it  was  at  first  supposed  that  we  had  a pedimental  group 
before  us.  It  has,  however,  been  found  impossible  to 


102 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


arrange  them  within  a triangular  gable  in  any  intelligible 
order.  Among  the  many  theories  which  have  been 
broached  on  the  subject,  the  most  plausible  seems  to  be 
that  they  stood  on  an  undulating  rocky  base,  with  a not  too 
distant  background,  so  as  to  produce  the  effect  of  a very 
high  relief  of  a somewhat  pictorial  character.  According 
to  this  view,  Niobe  would  occupy  the  highest  point,  and 
the  children  from  either  side  would  be  fleeing  towards  her 
for  refuge.  In  any  arrangement,  of  course,  the  godlike 
mother  would  occupy  the  centre,  and  her  place  is  indicated 
but  she  alone  is  represented  en  face. 

The  form,  attitude,  and  countenance  of  Niobe  afford  one 
of  the  best  examples  in  plastic  art  of  the  true  Greek  mod- 
eration. When  we  think  of  the  suddenness  with  which 
the  awful  calamity  had  burst  upon  her,  and  all  the  horrors 
of  her  position,  we  might  expect  to  see  a face  distorted  by 
the  violence  of  her  emotions.  We  could  have  forgiven  the 
artist  had  he  veiled  it,  as  the  painter  Timanthes  did  in  the 
case  of  Agamemnon  at  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia.  But  no; 
in  that  acme  of  her  sufferings,  the  form  of  Niobe  has 
lost  nothing  of  its  majesty  and  high-born  grace,  and  her 
face  retains  all  its  queenly  beauty  ; and  yet  what  a depth  of 
hopeless  sorrow  does  it  reveal ! She  falls,  indeed,  the  vic- 
tim of  the  Nemesis  she  had  so  wantonly  provoked,  but  she 
falls  like  a queen  and  a heroine,  carrying  with  her  the  sym- 
pathy of  all  beholders. 

We  are  accustomed  to  see  the  plainest  features  illumined 
and  transfigured  by  the  noble  soul ; but  in  Niobe  the  in- 


THE  NIOBB  GROUP  103 

dwelling  spirit  is  allowed  for  once  to  take  its  own  proper 
form,  and  to  show  incarnate  nobleness. 

Pride  and  despair  are  not  the  only  feelings  depicted  in 
that  upturned  face.  There  is  also  a trace  of  the  most 
touching  pathos ; the  trembling  of  the  lip,  and  the  quiver- 
ing of  the  lower  eyelid  are  harbingers  of  the  tears  which 
are  to  flow  for  ever.  And  the  immediate  cause  of  this 
emotion  is  before  us.  Very  striking  and  beautiful  is  the 
contrast  between  the  stately  form  of  the  proud  strong 
woman  who  shows  no  fears  for  her  own  person,  and  the 
timid  shrinking  child  who  clings  to  her  in  an  agony  of  fear, 
and  thinks  to  find  a refuge  in  her  mother’s  lap  even  from 
the  fury  of  the  gods.  It  is  a natural  and  beautiful  concep- 
tion, that  of  all  the  frightened  throng,  the  youngest  and  the 
tenderest  should  have  reached  the  mother  first,  and  should 
occupy  her  chief  attention  in  virtue  of  her  very  insignifi- 
cance and  helpless  dependence. 

The  effect  is  greatly  heightened  by  the  contrast  between 
the  tight  and  closely-fitting  dress  of  the  poor  child,  which 
shows  the  tender  immaturity  of  its  form  as  clearly  as  if  it 
were  nude,  and  the  rich  flowing  masses  of  the  mother’s 
robes. 

The  next  figure  on  Niobe’s  right  hand  is  the  first  daugh- 
ter, who,  like  the  mother,  is  in  the  act  of  drawing  her  gar- 
ment over  her  head  as  if  for  defense.  In  the  midst  of  her 
flight  she  is  stopped  short  by  an  arrow  which  pierces  her 
neck.  The  left  arm  is  bent  back  to  the  wound,  and  the 
whole  body  seems  paralyzed  by  the  shock.  The  beautiful 


io4 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


face  of  this  simple  and  noble  figure  was  a favourite  model 
with  the  Italian  masters,  and  especially  with  Guido  Reni. 

The  second  daughter,  who  is  following  the  first  in  her 
flight  towards  the  centre,  is  still  unhurt.  The  left  hand, 
which  is  rightly  restored,  is  widely  opened  and  raised  in  as- 
tonishment, while  with  her  right  she  seems  to  be  drawing 
her  garment  over  her  head.  There  is,  as  we  have  said,  a 
far  superior  copy  of  this  statue  in  the  Vatican.  It  is  un- 
fortunately without  a head,  but  the  treatment  both  of  form 
and  drapery  is  so  masterly  that  it  is  chiefly  owing  to  the 
nature  of  the  ground — which  is  not  uneven  and  rocky,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  other  statues — that  it  cannot  be  regarded 
as  the  original  work  of  the  great  Greek  master. 

Next  to  this  incomparable  daughter  comes,  in  the  Flor- 
entine group,  the  eldest  son,  whose  left  arm,  and  half  the 
lower  right  arm  with  the  drapery  about  it,  have  been  re- 
stored, so  as  to  efface  the  impact  of  another  figure.  It  is 
plausibly  conjectured  that  in  its  complete  state  it  was  an 
exact  duplicate  of  the  well-known  group  in  the  Vatican 
which  Canova  first  pointed  out  as  a member  of  the  Niobe 
composition.  The  Vatican  work  represents  a young  girl 
with  a wound  in  her  left  breast,  leaning  against  her  brother, 
who  has  stopped  in  his  flight  to  assist  her,  and  is  support- 
ing her  fainting  and  collapsing  frame.  Laying  one  hand 
affectionately  on  her  shoulder,  he  raises  his  garment  with 
the  other,  as  if  to  protect  himself  and  her. 

Next  to  this  group  comes  another  son,  whose  raised  left 
foot  rests  on  a rock,  as  if  he  were  mounting  a height.  He 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


105 


looks  behind  him  towards  the  quarter  from  which  the  ar- 
rows fly,  and  at  the  same  time  raises  his  garment  with  his 
left  hand,  as  if  apprehensive  of  attack  from  the  other  side 
also. 

The  next  place  is  properly  occupied  by  a beautiful  figure, 
formerly  called  Narcissus,  which  Thorwaldsen  first  recog- 
nized as  a Niobid.  He  is  wounded  and  has  fallen  on  his 
knees,  and  is  trying  with  his  right  hand  to  draw  the  deadly 
weapon  from  his  back,  while  he  throws  up  his  right  arm  in 
an  agony  of  pain. 

In  all  probability,  the  last  figure  on  this  side  was  a 
daughter  stretched  at  full  length  upon  the  ground,  in  re- 
sponse to  the  dying  son  at  the  other  extremity  of  the 
group. 

Passing  to  Niobe’s  left  hand,  we  are  obliged  to  leave  the 
place  nearest  to  her  blank,  as  we  know  of  no  figure  or 
group  which  we  could  with  any  certainty  place  in  the  orig- 
inal composition.  Next  to  this  gap  should  come  the  Paeda- 
gogue  with  the  youngest  son,  who  are  separated  in  the 
Florentine  series. 

The  Pedagogue  is  followed  by  the  statue  of  a daughter, 
fully  robed  in  chiton  and  chlamys,  who  is  cowering  in  an 
agony  of  fear,  and  wildly  spreading  out  her  arms  in  surprise, 
or  supplication. 

Then  follows  a wounded  Niobid,  who  has  sunk  on  one 
knee,  and  though  hardly  able  to  support  himself  in  an  erect 
position,  looks  upwards  towards  the  god  who  has  slain  him 
with  an  almost  defiant  gaze. 


io6 


THE  NIOBE  GROUP 


The  last  figure  on  this  side,  a Son,  lies  stretched  on  his 
back  in  the  agonies  of  death.  His  left  hand  covers  the 
wound  from  which  his  life  is  ebbing,  while  his  right  arm 
lies  across  his  face  as  if  he  would  fain  protect  himself  from 
another  fatal  shaft. 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 

(Praxiteles,  B.  C.  364.-346) 

CHARLES  THOMAS  NEWTON 

ON  the  west  coast  of  the  Morea  the  river  Alpheus, 
emerging  from  the  defiles  of  Arcadia  into  the  rich 
alluvial  valleys  of  Elis,  discharges  its  swift  and  turbid 
waters  into  the  sea  a little  south  of  the  island  of  Zante. 
That  river,  so  famous  in  ancient  song,  whose  fabled  pur- 
suit of  Arethusa  under  the  western  sea  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  Greek  myths,  receives,  about  ten  miles  inland 
from  its  mouth,  a small  tributary  called  the  Kladeos.  The 
little  plain  enclosed  between  these  two  rivers  at  their  con- 
fluence, though  never  the  site  of  a populous  city,  was  one 
of  the  most  famous  spots  in  the  ancient  world,  for,  within 
this  narrow  area  surrounded  by  low  wooded  hills,  was  the 
playground  of  the  Hellenic  race,  the  scene  of  the  great 
Olympic  festival.  The  origin  of  this  festival  was  referred 
by  the  Greeks  to  a period  long  antecedent  to  history.  If 
we  are  to  believe  the  tale  told  to  Pausanias  by  the  priests 
of  Elis,  we  must  go  back  for  the  origin  of  these  games  to 
that  Golden  Age  before  the  flood  of  Deucalion,  when 
Zeus  was  still  an  infant,  and  Cronos  his  father  reigned. 

Through  the  long  course  of  centuries  during  which  time 
was  reckoned  in  Olympiads,  the  triumphs  of  war,  the 


io8 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 


redundant  wealth  of  commerce,  pious  gratitude  for  past 
prosperity,  or  a vague  apprehension  of  divine  wrath  in  the 
future,  often  on  account  of  unatoned  crime,  were  forever 
supplying  the  motive  and  the  material  for  new  dedications 
at  Olympia,  most  of  which  were  in  the  form  of  statues  of 
Zeus  and  other  deities.  Thus  by  degrees  the  Olympian 
Altis  became  one  great  museum  of  art  in  which  each 
Hellenic  state  had  a common  interest  and  took  a pride 
in  common.  Even  after  Greece  had  become  a Roman 
province,  when  the  Olympic  contests,  degraded  by  the 
patronage  of  a Nero,  had  lost  nearly  all  their  political 
significance  and  much  of  their  ennobling  influence,  the 
works  of  art  which  had  accumulated  through  so  many 
centuries  still  survived  to  charm  the  eye  and  excite  the 
marvel  of  the  visitors  who  flocked  to  the  famous  games 
from  every  part  of  the  Roman  world,  and  of  the  inquisitive 
tourists  who  explored  Olympia  at  other  seasons. 

It  is  to  one  of  these  pilgrims  that  we  owe  a description 
of  the  monuments  of  Olympia,  the  value  and  accuracy  of 
which  are  now  more  than  ever  appreciated,  since  it  has 
been  tested  by  recent  excavations  on  the  site.  In  the  latter 
half  of  the  second  century  of  our  era,  Pausanias,  after 
visiting  many  parts  of  Greece,  note-book  in  hand,  wrote 
that  curious  work  which  to  the  tourists  and  explorers  of  all 
later  ages  has  proved  an  invaluable  guide.  Of  the  ten 
books  into  which  his  Periegesis  is  divided,  two  are  devoted 
to  the  history  of  the  festival  at  Olympia  and  the  description 
of  its  monuments.  The  temple  of  Zeus,  with  its 


HERMES  AT  OLYMPIA,  GREECE 
By  Praxiteles 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA  109 

chryselephantine  statue  and  other  sculptures,  occupies,  as 
might  be  expected,  the  foremost  place  in  the  notice  of 
Olympian  admiranda . After  describing  these  at  great 

length,  Pausanias  passes  on  to  the  temple  which  ranked 
next  to  that  of  Zeus,  the  Heraion  dedicated  to  his  consort, 
Hera. 

The  exploration  of  the  site  of  Olympia  was  an  idea 
which  Winckelmann  earnestly  cherished  more  than  a 
century  ago.  It  does  not,  however,  appear  that  any 
traveller  examined  this  site  till  it  was  visited  by  Chandler 
in  1766  in  the  course  of  the  mission  to  Greece  on  which 
he  was  sent  by  the  Society  of  Dilettanti.  Almost  the  only 
remains  then  visible  were  the  massive  remains  of  the 
temple  of  Zeus,  cropping  out  of  the  soil.  In  1829  an 
expedition  sent  to  Olympia  by  the  French  Government 
made  a partial  exploration  of  the  temple  of  Zeus,  clearing 
away  enough  of  the  ruins  to  ascertain  its  dimensions  and 
general  plan. 

Another  generation  passed  away  before  the  idea  of  ex- 
ploring Olympia  in  a comprehensive  and  thorough  manner 
was  seriously  taken  up  in  Germany.  Operations  were 
commenced  at  Olympia  on  October  4,  1875,  under  the 
direction  of  Dr.  Gustav  Hirschfeld  and  the  architect  Herr 
Adolf  Botticher.  The  complete  exploration  of  the  temple 
of  Zeus,  which  the  French  had  only  partially  examined, 
was  the  first  object  undertaken.  Trenches  were  dug  all 
round  its  site,  which  were  gradually  expanded  till  the  ruins 
of  the  temple  and  the  margin  of  ancient  surface  immediately 


no 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 


environing  it  were  laid  bare.  A trench  dug  northward  dis- 
closed the  site  of  the  Heraion,  the  temple  next  in  size  and 
consequence  to  that  of  Zeus. 

The  Heraion  is  a Doric  temple  with  six  columns  in  the 
fronts  and  sixteen  at  the  sides.  The  interior  is  arranged 
in  three  aisles  with  a pronaos  and  opisthodomos . The  col- 
umns of  the  peristyle  vary  in  diameter  and  character. 
Some  of  the  capitals  are  of  a very  archaic  type  and  some  of 
the  shafts  are  monolithic,  while  in  others  very  large  drums 
have  been  used.  In  the  interior  slender  Ionic  columns 
have  been  substituted  for  the  original  Doric.  The  ma- 
terial is  the  same  coarse  poros  which  is  used  in  the  temple 
of  Zeus.  The  position  of  the  bronze  doors  and  metallic 
gratings  inside  can  be  clearly  made  out,  and  on  the  walls 
are  marks  where  bronze  plates  have  been  attached.  Of 
the  many  precious  works  of  art  and  time-honoured  relics 
which  Pausanias  saw  in  this  temple,  nothing  now  remains 
except  two  sculptures,  one  of  which  is  of  peculiar  interest, 
because  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  the  identi- 
cal work  which  Pausanias  describes  as  being  by  Praxiteles. 

Among  the  sculptures  discovered  at  Olympia,  the  first 
rank  must  be  assigned  to  the  group  found  in  the  Heraion, 
which,  as  we  have  already  stated,  has  been  clearly  identified 
with  the  work  by  Praxiteles  seen  by  Pausanias  in  that 
temple.  The  subject  of  this  group  he  describes  as  Hermes 
holding  in  his  arms  the  infant  Dionysus.  The  mutilated 
condition  of  this  group,  of  course,  detracts  greatly  from  its 
beauty.  Of  the  infant  Dionysus  hardly  anything  remains 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 


III 


except  the  lower  half  of  the  body  and  a much-battered 
fragment  of  the  back.  Hermes  has  lost  both  legs  and  the 
right  forearm,  but  the  head  and  the  rest  of  the  body  are  in 
admirable  condition,  and  the  features,  even  to  the  tip  of 
the  nose,  are  quite  intact.  Like  the  Satyrs,  the  Apollo 
Sauroctonos,  and  other  figures  which  we  may  derive  with 
more  or  less  of  probability  from  the  school  of  Praxiteles, 
Hermes  stands  in  an  easy,  graceful  attitude,  the  left  knee 
slightly  bent,  the  left  elbow  resting  on  the  trunk  of  a tree. 
The  left  forearm  is  advanced  horizontally  from  this  point  d ’ 
appui , forming  a support  on  which  the  infant  god  is  seated, 
round  whose  lower  limbs  drapery  is  wrapped.  Part  of  the 
right  hand  of  Dionysus  still  remains  resting  on  the  left 
shoulder  of  his  protector,  to  whom  he  must  have  been 
looking  up.  The  right  hand  of  Hermes  may  have  held 
the  thyrsus , the  attribute  of  the  infant  god,  while  in  his 
left  was  probably  the  caduceus.  Making  due  allowance  for 
the  mutilation  which  this  group  has  undergone,  what  re- 
mains of  it  seems,  in  our  judgment,  certainly  worthy  of  the 
great  master  to  whom  Pausanias  attributes  it.  The  form 
of  Hermes,  which  is  almost  entirely  nude,  presents  that 
well-balanced  combination  of  grace  and  strength  which  we 
should  expect  a priori  in  a work  by  Praxiteles.  The  out- 
lines are  rich  and  flowing,  but  with  no  tendency  to  effemi- 
nacy. The  arch,  playful  features  seem  lit  up  by  a smile, 
and  we  see  here  a subtle  refinement  of  expression  which 
quite  bears  out  what  an  ancient  critic  has  said  of  Praxiteles, 
that  his  distinguishing  excellence  was  the  infusing  into 


112 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 


marble  the  emotions  of  the  soul— in  other  words,  that  he 
developed  the  pathetic  tendency  of  Greek  sculpture. 

The  mantle  which  hangs  from  the  left  arm  of  this  figure 
over  the  trunk  of  the  tree  has  an  easy  natural  flow  and  a 
richness  of  effect  which  remind  us  of  the  drapery  of  the 
so-called  Artemesia  from  the  Mausoleum.  In  both  these 
figures  the  perfect  mastery  over  the  marble  which  the 
sculptor  possessed  is  shown  without  any  needless  ostenta- 
tion. The  hair  of  the  Hermes  seems  rather  roughly  and 
sketchily  treated,  in  comparison  with  the  elaborate  finish  of 
the  body  generally ; and  this  has  led  more  than  one  Ger- 
man archaeologist  to  suggest  that  the  group  was  not  by 
Praxiteles  himself,  but  by  a later  sculptor  of  the  same  name. 
We  are  of  the  opinion,  however,  that  there  is  no  sufficient 
ground  for  such  a theory.  The  value  of  this  discovery  in 
reference  to  the  history  of  Greek  art  can  hardly  be  over- 
rated. Scattered  about  in  the  museums  of  Europe  are  a 
certain  number  of  statues,  in  which  have  been  recognized, 
with  more  or  less  of  probability,  copies  of  celebrated  works 
of  Praxiteles,  either  on  account  of  the  correspondence  of 
their  subject  as  in  the  case  of  the  Apollo  slaying  the  lizard, 
which  seems  clearly  a replica  of  the  Apollo  Sauroctonos, 
mentioned  by  Pliny,  or  from  their  presenting  certain  char- 
acteristics of  type  and  style  which  ancient  critics  would 
lead  us  to  look  for  in  works  executed  in  the  school  of 
Praxiteles. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  discovery  of  one  undoubted  work 
by  a great  sculptor  must  supply,  as  far  as  it  goes,  a test 


THE  HERMES  OF  OLYMPIA 


I!3 

how  far  our  preconceived  notions  of  his  style  were  well 
grounded.  Such  a test  we  consider  to  have  been  obtained 
in  the  case  of  Praxiteles  by  this  discovery  of  one  of  his 
works  in  the  Heraion  at  Olympia.  Such  a discovery  ren- 
ders our  notions  of  his  style  much  more  distinct  and  real 
than  they  were  before,  and  at  the  same  time  may  aid  us 
to  detect  echoes  and  replicas  of  his  work  still  latent  in 
Graeco-Roman  art. 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN 

{Praxiteles , B.  C.  364-340) 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

THE  Faun  1 is  the  marble  image  of  a young  man,  lean- 
ing his  right  arm  on  the  trunk  or  stump  of  a tree  ; 
one  hand  hangs  carelessly  by  his  side ; in  the  other  he  holds 
the  fragment  of  a pipe,  or  some  such  sylvan  instrument  of 
music.  His  only  garment — a lion’s  skin,  with  the  claws 
upon  his  shoulder — falls  half  way  down  his  back,  leaving 
the  limbs  and  entire  front  of  the  figure  nude.  The  form, 
thus  displayed,  is  marvellously  graceful,  but  has  a fuller  and 
more  rounded  outline,  more  flesh,  and  less  of  heroic  muscle 
than  the  old  sculptors  were  wont  to  assign  to  their  types  of 

1 Nibby  ( Descrizione  della  Villa  Adriana')  records  that  this  statue  was 
found  in  Hadrian’s  Villa,  near  Tivoli.  It  was  formerly  kept  in  the  Villa 
d’Este  and  was  incorporated  in  the  Capitoline  collections  by  Benedict  XIV. 
in  753.  The  restorations  include  the  nose,  the  right  forearm  and  flute,  the 
left  arm  (except  the  upper  part  and  the  thumb  and  forefinger  on  the 
panther-skin),  parts  of  the  panther-skin,  the  right  foot,  fragments  of  the 
toes  of  the  left  foot  and  of  the  plinth.  In  placing  a flute  in  the  right  hand, 
the  restorer  seems  justified  by  other  replicas. 

The  Satyr,  who  has  just  ceased  playing  the  flute,  now  resigns  himself  to 
the  dreamy  mood  awakened  by  the  music.  His  attitude  is  full  of  grace 
and  charm.  He  leans  with  his  right  arm  on  the  stump  of  a tree  ; his 
right  leg,  thus  freed  from  the  weight  of  the  body,  is  drawn  back  so  that  its 
toe  touches  his  left  heel.  His  left  hand  rests  lightly  on  his  hip,  pushing 
back  the  panther-skin  that  falls  over  his  breast.  Like  most  of  the  Satyr- 
types  created  in  the  Fourth  Century  b.  c.,  the  figure  before  us  is  of  a 
somewhat  elevated  character,  revealing  the;  animal  nature  almost  solely 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN,  CAPITOLINE,  ROME 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN 


115 

masculine  beauty.  The  character  of  the  face  corresponds 
with  the  figure ; it  is  most  agreeable  in  outline  and  feature, 
but  rounded  and  somewhat  voluptuously  developed,  espe- 
cially about  the  throat  and  chin ; the  nose  is  almost  straight, 
but  very  slightly  curves  inward,  thereby  acquiring  an  in- 
describable charm  of  geniality  and  humour.  The  mouth, 
with  its  full  yet  delicate  lips,  seems  so  nearly  to  smile  out- 
right, that  it  calls  forth  a responsive  smile.  The  whole 
statue — unlike  anything  else  that  ever  was  wrought  in  that 
severe  material  of  marble — conveys  the  idea  of  an  amiable 
and  sensual  creature,  easy,  mirthful,  apt  for  jollity,  yet  not 
incapable  of  being  touched  by  pathos.  It  is  impossible  to 
gaze  long  at  this  stone  image  without  conceiving  a kindly 
sentiment  towards  it,  as  if  its  substance  were  warm  to  the 
touch,  and  imbued  with  actual  life.  It  comes  very  close  to 
some  of  our  pleasantest  sympathies. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  very  lack  of  moral  severity,  of  any  high 

in  the  pointed  ears.  The  mischievous  and  sensual  nature'popularly  attrib- 
uted to  the  Satyrs  is  not,  indeed,  entirely  effaced.  The  fine,  rather  flat 
nose,  the  hair  pushed  back  from  the  forehead  and  the  roguish  expression 
that  plays  round  the  parted  lips  show  that  our  Satyr  could  be  mischievous 
when  it  suited  him,  while  the  languishing  glance  indicates  that  the  sensual 
instinct  might  be  awakened  without  difficulty.  The  delicate  forms  of  the 
body  show  no  trace  of  assiduous  activity  or  gymnastic  exercises,  but  seem 
to  have  attained  their  striking  perfection  “ by  the  free  grace  of  nature  ” 
(Briinn).  As  no  ancient  statue  is  extant  in  so  many  replicas  as  this  one, 
it  used  to  be  assumed  that  its  original  was  the  famous  Periboetos  of 
Praxiteles.  . . . It  is  very  probable  that  the  original  of  this  work  was, 

not  the  Periboetos,  but  another  Satyr,  by  Praxiteles.  The  Capitoline  ex- 
ample is  executed  in  the  decorative  style  of  the  time  of  Hadrian.  Traces 
of  brown  colouring  still  remain  on  the  outside  of  the  panther-skin. — * 
Wolfgang  Helbig. 


n6 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN 


and  heroic  ingredient  in  the  character  of  the  Faun,  that 
makes  it  so  delightful  to  the  human  eye  and  to  the  frailty 
of  the  human  heart.  The  being  here  represented  is  en- 
dowed with  no  principle  of  virtue,  and  would  be  incapable 
of  comprehending  such  ; but  he  would  be  true  and  honest 
by  dint  of  his  simplicity.  We  should  expect  of  him  no 
sacrifice  or  effort  for  an  abstract  cause  ; there  is  not  an  atom 
of  martyr’s  stuff  in  all  that  softened  marble ; but  he  has  a 
capacity  for  strong  and  warm  attachment,  and  might  act 
devotedly  through  its  impulse,  and  even  die  for  it  at  need. 
It  is  possible,  too,  that  the  Faun  might  be  educated  through 
the  medium  of  his  emotions,  so  that  the  coarser  animal  por- 
tion of  his  nature  might  eventually  be  thrown  into  the 
background,  though  never  utterly  expelled. 

The  animal  nature,  indeed,  is  a most  essential  part  of  the 
Faun’s  composition ; for  the  characteristics  of  the  brute 
creation  meet  and  combine  with  those  of  humanity  in  this 
strange  yet  true  and  natural  conception  of  antique  poetry 
and  art.  Praxiteles  has  subtly  diffused  throughout  his  work 
that  mute  mystery  which  so  hopelessly  perplexes  us  when- 
ever we  attempt  to  gain  an  intellectual  or  sympathetic 
knowledge  of  the  lower  orders  of  creation.  The  riddle  is 
indicated,  however,  only  by  two  definite  signs  ; these  are  the 
two  ears  of  the  Faun,  which  are  leaf-shaped,  terminating  in 
little  peaks,  like  those  of  some  species  of  animals.  Though 
not  so  seen  in  the  marble,  they  are  probably  to  be  considered 
as  clothed  in  fine,  downy  fur.  In  the  coarser  representa- 
tions of  this  class  of  mythological  creatures,  there  is  another 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN 


JI7 

token  of  brute  kindred, — a certain  caudal  appendage  ; which, 
if  the  Faun  of  Praxiteles  must  be  supposed  to  possess  it  at 
all,  is  hidden  by  the  lion’s  skin  that  forms  his  garment. 
The  pointed  and  furry  ears,  therefore,  are  the  sole  indica- 
tions of  his  wild,  forest  nature. 

Only  a sculptor  of  the  finest  imagination,  the  most 
delicate  taste,  the  sweetest  feeling,  and  the  rarest  artistic 
skill — in  a word,  a sculptor  and  a poet  too — could  have  first 
dreamed  of  a Faun  in  this  guise,  and  then  have  succeeded 
in  imprisoning  the  sportive  and  frisky  thing  in  marble. 
Neither  man  nor  animal,  and  yet  no  monster,  but  a being 
in  whom  both  races  meet  on  friendly  ground  ! The  idea 
grows  coarse  as  we  handle  it,  and  hardens  in  our  grasp. 
But,  if  the  spectator  broods  long  over  the  statue,  he  will 
be  conscious  of  its  spell  ; all  the  pleasantness  of  sylvan  life, 
all  the  genial  and  happy  characteristics  of  creatures  that 
dwell  in  woods  and  fields,  will  seem  to  be  mingled  and 
kneaded  into  one  substance,  along  with  the  kindred  qualities 
in  the  human  soul.  Trees,  grass,  flowers,  woodland 
streamlets,  cattle,  deer  and  unsophisticated  man  ! The 
essence  of  all  these  was  compressed  long  ago,  and  still 
exists  within  that  discoloured  marble  surface  of  the  Faun  of 
Praxiteles. 

And,  after  all,  the  idea  may  have  been  no  dream,  but 
rather  a poet’s  reminiscence  of  a period  when  man’s  affinity 
with  nature  was  more  strict,  and  his  fellowship  with  every 
living  thing  more  intimate  and  dear. 


THE  EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE 


( Probably  after  Praxiteles , B.  C.  364.-340) 

WALTER  COPLAND  PERRY 


ROS,  as  an  independent  deity,  appears  somewhat  late 


in  art,  and  even  Phidias  is  not  known  to  have  exe- 
cuted any  statue  of  him,  although  he  appears,  perhaps,  in 
the  Parthenon  frieze  in  attendance  on  his  mother.  It  is 
remarkable  that  no  mention  is  made  of  him  in  either  Homer 
or  iTschylus,  and  although  he  appears  in  the  Cosmogony 
of  Hesiod  as  one  of  the  first  and  oldest  of  the  gods,  it  is 
only  as  the  principle  of  union  among  the  discordant  ele- 
ments from  which  the  universe  was  formed.  The  God  of 
Love  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word  is  a creation 
of  the  later  poets,  and  the  full  and  complete  embodiment 
of  this  conception  in  sculpture  must  be  chiefly  attributed 
to  Praxiteles.  He  executed  a statue  of  Eros , as  the  artistic 
expression  of  his  own  love  for  Phryne,  u drawing  the 
archetype  from  his  own  heart,”  and  he  regarded  it  as  his 
happiest  effort.  Phryne  having  gained  possession  of  it  by 
stratagem,  or  received  it  as  a free  gift  of  love,  offered  it  in 
the  Temple  at  Thespiae  in  Boeotia,  where  it  stood  between 
a statue  of  Aphrodite  and  of  Phryne  herself.  The  celebrity 
of  this  marvel  of  plastic  art  almost  equalled  that  of  the 
Cnidian  Aphrodite  herself.  Cicero  uses  almost  exactly  the 


EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE,  VATICAN 


e '■  i 


THE  EROS  OF  CEMTOCELLE  II9 

same  words  respecting  these  two  statues.  Thespiae,  he 
says,  was  visited  solely  for  the  sake  of  the  Eros  of  Praxiteles, 
‘‘there  being  no  other  reason  forgoing  there/’  Notwith- 
standing its  formal  consecration  as  an  object  of  worship, 
Caius  Caesar  (Caligula)  sacrilegiously  removed  it  to  Rome. 
It  was  restored  to  the  Thespians  by  Claudius,  but  was  again 
carried  off  to  Rome  by  Nero,  where  it  perished  in  a con- 
flagration in  the  reign  of  Titus.  As  some  consolation  for 
their  irreparable  loss,  the  Thespians  set  up  a copy  of  the 
lost  Eros  of  Praxiteles,  by  the  hand  of  the  Athenian 
Menodorus. 

We  know  no  particulars  of  the  motif  of  this  statue.  We 
are  only  told  that  it  was  winged  and  that  some  foolish  ad- 
mirer, probably  an  emperor,  had  covered  its  pinions  with 
gold,  “ by  which,”  says  the  Emperor  Julian,  “ the  accuracy 
and  finish  of  the  work  were  destroyed.”  We  may  even 
doubt  whether  he  was  represented  with  his  usual  attributes, 
the  bow  and  quiver,  for,  according  to  the  epigram,  “ he 
infused  his  love  charms  not  by  his  arrows  but  his  eyes.” 

The  Eros  of  Praxiteles,  like  that  of  Scopas,  was  not  the 
pert,  mischievous  and  merry  little  boy  of  later  art,  who 
could  know  nothing  of  the  passion  he  so  wantonly  inspired  ; 
but  the  tender  youth,  just  rising  into  manhood,  who  broods 
over  the  new  sensations  which  pervade  his  heart  but  whose 
timid  inexperience  and  self-distrust  lead  him  to  pine  and 
dream  rather  than  to  woo  or  seize  the  object  of  his  affec- 
tions. 

The  exquisite  torso  of  Eros , discovered  by  Gavin  Hamil- 


120 


THE  EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE 


ton  in  Centocelle,  near  the  Via  Labicana,  and  now  in  the 
Vatican,  may  help  us  to  realize  the  conception  of  Praxiteles. 
We  have  indeed  no  external  grounds  for  assuming  that  it 
is  a copy  of  the  Thespian  statue.  Yet  there  is  much  in  the 
Vatican  torso,  of  which  we  give  the  head,  which  reminds 
us  of  the  style  of  Praxiteles — the  full  rich  locks  of  the  hair, 
the  dreamy,  melancholy  inclination  of  the  head,  and  the 
glance  of  the  eye,  from  which  the  first  rays  of  love  seem  to 
break  through  a cloud  of  sadness.  That  it  is  a copy  of 
some  great  type  is  the  more  probable  because  the  inferiority 
of  the  execution  to  the  design  forbids  us  to  regard  it  as  an 
original  work.  Traces  of  wings  are  found  on  the  back, 
and  attempts  have  been  made  to  restore  it  by  the  aid  of 
better  preserved  copies  in  the  Vatican  and  in  the  Naples 
Museum.  The  left  hand,  we  are  to  suppose,  held  a bow, 
and  the  right  hand  a torch  which  Eros  is  in  the  act  of 
lowering  on  to  a small  altar,  in  performance  of  his  functions 
as  the  Genius  of  Death.  The  design  is  familiar  to  us  in  the 
reliefs  of  Roman  sarcophagi ; and  the  Centocelle  figure,  as 
well  as  others  similar  to  it,  may  have  formed  the  ornament 
of  a sepulchre. 

The  Neapolitan  statue,  just  mentioned,  is  also  a single 
figure,  but  may  very  likely  have  formed  part  of  a group, 
like  the  corresponding  one  in  the  Louvre,  where  Psyche 
is  kneeling  by  his  side.  There  is  a pretty  statue  of  Eros 
in  the  Villa  Borghese  at  Rome,  also  without  wings,  in  which 
he  is  represented  in  chains , and  crying. 

A very  warm  controversy  has  been  carried  on  respecting 


THE  EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE 


I 2 1 


the  characteristics  of  the  style  of  Praxiteles  and  the  place 
which  should  be  assigned  to  him  in  the  Pantheon  of  artists. 
Many  eminent  writers,  and  amongst  them  Brunn,  regard 
him  as  eminently  a sensual  artist ; and  he  is  often  spoken 
of  with  contempt  as  “ the  sentimental  adorer  and  sculptor 
of  Hetairai.,,  Respecting  the  majority  of  works  the  de- 
sign or  execution  of  which  is  ascribed  to  him,  the  imputa- 
tion of  sensuality  cannot  be  maintained.  In  some  of  the 
most  celebrated — the  Hermes  and  Dionysus,  the  Apollo 
Sauroctonos,  and  the  Eros — there  is  everything  to  gratify 
and  nothing  to  offend  the  purest  taste ; and  if  the  Niobe 
group  or  the  Demeter  of  Cnidos  be  ascribed  to  him,  our 
estimate  of  him  will  be  high  indeed.  The  unfavourable 
judgment  of  his  character  then  must  be  founded  on  the 
effect  which,  according  to  writers  of  erotic  tendencies  like 
Lucian,  and  turgid  rhetoricians  and  epigrammatists,  his 
Cnidian  Aphrodite  produced  on  the  beholder.  This  is 
evidently  the  chief  reason  for  Briinn’s  disparaging  estimate 
of  his  genius  and  character.  The  weight  of  such  testimony 
may  easily  be  exaggerated.  “To  the  impure,  all  things 
are  impure.”  A Comus  sees  nothing  in  “ the  Lady  ” but 

“ The  vermeil-tinctured  lip. 

Love-darting  eyes  and  tresses  like  the  moon.” 

The  “ angePs  face”  of  Una,  “the  flower  of  faith  and 
chastity,”  only  roused  to  greater  violence  the  wild  passion 
of  the  foul  Paynim  Sansloi : 


122 


THE  EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE 


Can  it  be  (asks  Angelo) 

That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than  woman’s  lightness  ? ” 

The  insanity  of  Pisciculus,  the  suicide  of  the  Athenian 
youth,  are  proofs  of  the  beauty  but  not  of  the  sensuality  of 
Praxiteles’s  works  ; and  it  would  be  hard  indeed  if  we  must 
exclude  from  the  range  of  art  u the  last  best  work  ” of 
God,  because  base  natures  can  see  nothing  in  the  most  ideal 
form  of  loveliness  but  the  toy  of  passion. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  whole  spirit  and  tendency  of 
his  works  are  too  exclusively  dominated  and  determined  by 
his  love  of  beauty.  But  the  beauty  which  he  aimed  at  was 
not  merely  corporeal ; it  was  the  beauty  of  tender,  loving, 
or  pathetic  emotions,  expressed  in  graceful  forms  and  lovely 
features.  He  must,  therefore,  be  classed  among  ideal  art- 
ists, because  he  did  not  rest  in  beauty  as  a sufficient  end 
in  itself,  but  employed  it  for  the  representation  of  thought 
and  feeling.  As  a lover  of  beauty  and  artist  of  the  emo- 
tions, he  naturally  chose  the  female  form  as  the  principal 
vehicle  for  the  expression  of  his  ideas  ; and  even  the  ma- 
jority of  his  male  figures  have  something  of  the  grace  and 
delicacy  of  woman.  Now,  it  is  this  exclusive  attachment 
to  the  beautiful  which  forms  the  chief  difference  between 
him  and  Scopas,  and  confined  him  within  a narrower 
range  of  subjects.  Scopas  delighted  in  expression  of 
the  wildest  excitement  and  passion,  while  Praxiteles  con- 
fined himself  to  the  representation  of  the  gentler  feelings 
which  can  be  expressed  without  those  contortions  of  limb 


THE  EROS  OF  CENTOCELLE 


I23 


or  face  which  disturb  the  lines  of  perfect  beauty.  In  dar- 
ing flights  of  original  genius  he  could  not  follow  Scopas ; 
but  in  the  beauty,  grace  and  tenderness,  in  the  exquisite  re- 
finement and  winning  charm,  with  which  he  endows  the 
creations  of  his  genius,  he  has  no  equal. 


THE  APOXYOMENOS1 

(Lysippus,  Ji.  jjo  B.  C.) 

A.  S.  MURRAY 

IT  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  in  general  were 
the  advantages  of  pupillage  under  a great  master  in  an- 
tiquity— whether  the  workshop  was  a sort  of  school  in  which 
the  peculiarities  of  older  masters  were  shown  and  demon- 
strated to  the  pupils,  or  whether  it  was  not  more  usual  for  the 
master  merely  to  let  the  pupils  see  him  working  regularly,  and 
to  leave  them  free  to  choose  for  themselves,  as  did  Lysippus 
according  to  an  ancient  record.  The  probability  is  that  this 
method  of  instruction  adopted  by  Lysippus  was  exceptional, 
and  was  in  part  justified  by  his  own  experience  as  a self- 
taught  artist.  The  story  runs  that  he  was  not  only  self- 

1 Found  in  April,  1849,  among  the  ruins  of  a large  private  house  in  the 
Vicolo  delle  Palme  in  Trastevere.  The  fingers  of  the  right  hand  and  the 
die,  the  tip  of  the  left  thumb,  parts  of  the  strigil  and  all  the  toes  were  re- 
stored by  Tenerani.  The  attribute  of  the  die  was  due  to  a misapprehen- 
sion of  a passage  in  Pliny  [Nat.  His.,  pp.  34,  55). 

Before  engaging  in  the  exercises  of  the  palcestra,  the  Greek  youths 
anointed  their  bodies  with  oil  and  besprinkled  themselves  with  fine  sand, 
so  as  to  afford  a firm  grip  in  wrestling.  At  the  end  of  the  exercises  they 
used  a metal  scraper  ( strigil ) to  remove  the  oil-soaked  sand.  The  statue 
before  us  represents  a youth  in  the  act  of  thus  cleaning  the  lower  side  of 
his  right  arm,  which  is  stretched  out  for  the  convenience  of  the  operation. 
The  right  hand  should  be  empty.  This  is  a marble  copy  of  a bronze 
statue  by  Lysippus,  which  stood  in  Rome  at  the  beginning  of  the  Empire, 
and  there  enjoyed  great  popularity.  Agrippa  placed  it  in  front  of  his 
Thermae,  and  Tiberius,  who  had  removed  it  to  his  palace,  restored  it  to  its 


THE  APOXYOMENOS,  VATICAN 


THE  APOXYOMENOS 


125 


taught,  but  had  begun  life  as  an  ordinary  worker  in  bronze. 
While  so  occupied  in  his  youth  we  are  led  to  imagine  him 
rapidly  acquiring  the  facilities  of  a sculptor  in  technical 
matters,  and  when  once  in  confident  possession  of  these 
facilities  he  chose,  as  he  is  reported  to  have  said,  nature  to 
be  his  instructor.  That  he  did  not,  however,  always  follow 
her  instructions  pure  and  simple,  may  be  gathered  from  an- 
other observation  attributed  to  him  that  he  had  made  the 
Doryphorus  1 of  Polyclitus  his  master.  Not  that  he  sought 
to  imitate  it.  On  the  contrary,  the  proportions  of  that 
statue  were  typical  to  him  of  what  should  not  be.  But 
then  they  were  carried  out  on  a strict  system,  and  in  this  re- 
spect the  Doryphorus  was  well  qualified  to  teach  even  Ly- 
sippus that  whatever  innovations  he  might  make  in  the  pro- 
portions of  the  human  figure  must  be  made  on  a rigid  system. 
Still  more  at  variance,  it  would  seem,  with  his  original  de- 
sire to  follow  nature  is  his  remark  that  while  his  predeces- 
sors had  sculptured  men  as  they  were,  he  sculptured  them 

previous  site,  at  the  request  of  the  people  expressed  in  the  theatre.  We 
recognize  in  this  copy  all  the  peculiarities  traditionally  ascribed  to  the 
works  of  Lysippus.  That  artist  was  said  to  make  the  figure  slighter  and 
the  head  smaller  than  his  predecessors.  Even  a comparatively  unprac- 
tised eye  will  detect  the  differences  of  the  proportions  observed  in  the 
Apoxyomenos  and  in  earlier  types.  . . . The  type  of  head  is  a varia- 

tion of  the  Polyclitan  type,  dictated  by  the  altered  spirit  of  the  age.  In 
harmony  with  the  more  advanced  culture  the  face  expresses  a richer  in- 
tellectual life.  The  line  crossing  the  brow  lends  a pensive,  almost  nerv- 
ous, air  to  the  refined  countenance.  Both  flesh  and  hair  are  very  freely 
treated. — Wolfgang  Helbig. 

1 A copy  of  the  Doryphorus  (the  spear-bearer)  is  in  the  National  Museum, 
Naples. — E.  S. 


126 


THE  APOXYOMENOS 


as  they  seemed.  The  remark  is  unjust  to  earlier  artists, 
unless  it  was  meant  to  apply  chiefly  to  Polyclitus  and  his 
school,  who  were,  in  reality,  his  true  predecessors,  and  then 
it  would  apply  in  this  sense  that  while  they  imitated  the 
human  form  mainly  as  a physical  object  presented  to  their 
view,  he  imitated  it  as  the  residence  and  embodiment  of  a 
spiritual  being,  no  less  than  as  a physical  organization,  obe- 
dient in  all  things  to  that  being.  With  this  interpretation 
he  may  be  said  to  have  followed  nature  in  a wide  sense,  as 
indeed  had  Praxiteles,  Scopas,  and  others,  but  with  this  dif- 
ference, that  they  selected  carefully  such  types  of  beings  as 
most  readily  lent  themselves  to  the  expression  of  spiritual 
moods,  while  the  effort  of  Lysippus  was  rather  to  import  a 
lower  and  more  general  degree  of  the  spiritual  element  into 
beings  of  an  average  muscular  and  physical  form.  In  at- 
taining this  end  he  was  unquestionably  indebted  to  Praxi- 
teles for  having  shown  what  was  to  be  gained  by  placing 
the  balance  of  a figure  in  the  middle  of  the  body,  and  thus 
allowing  freedom  and  grace  for  the  attitude  and  movement 
of  the  legs  and  arms.1  With  this  and  the  strictly  organized 
proportions  of  Polyclitus  to  start  from,  he  proceeded  to  de- 
velop a new  system  of  proportions  in  which  men  of  ath- 
letic mould  should  be  made  to  express  the  mobility  and 
freedom  of  action  natural  to  them  at  all  times,  in  contrast 

1 Briinn  in  his  very  fine  criticism  of  Lysippus  [Gr.  Kunstler , Vol.  I.,  p.  373), 
says  that  he  followed  the  path  which  Praxiteles  had  opened  up  by  reliev- 
ing the  feet  of  the  weight  of  the  body  and  utilizing  the  arm  or  shoulder 
for  the  support  of  the  upper  part  of  the  body. 


THE  APOXYOMENOS 


127 


to  the  mobility  and  freedom  which  older  sculptors  had  ex- 
pressed only  under  the  influence  of  special  occasions.  His 
statues  were  mainly  of  a masculine  and  athletic  type. 

The  number  of  his  works  is  indeed  estimated  at  1,500; 
but  in  that  there  may  be  exaggeration,  since  it  hangs  to- 
gether with  a statement  that  at  his  death  he  left  for  his  heir 
a sum  of  1,500  gold  denarii,  which  had  been  set  aside  by 
him,  each  piece  when  a work  was  finished,  or  rather,  as 
may  be  supposed,  was  paid  for.  It  is  a fable  to  illustrate 
the  frugal  habits  of  a self-taught  man.  As,  however,  he 
lived  to  a considerable  age,  and  since  from  the  uniform 
character  of  his  work  there  is  no  reason  why  he  may  not 
have  been  unusually  prolific,  we  may  fairly  allow  him  a 
much  larger  number  of  works  than  appears  in  the  recorded 
list. 

It  was,  however,  as  the  list  of  his  works  amply  testifies, 
in  powerful  muscular  forms  that  he  excelled.  In  seeking  a 
new  system  of  proportions  for  them  he  arrived  at  this  con- 
clusion,— that  the  legs  must  in  all  cases  be  made  longer 
than  had  been  usual  before,  and  the  heads  smaller  in  youth- 
ful figures  at  least.  He  chose,  in  fact,  as  the  basis  of  his 
system,  the  type  of  the  boxer,  as  we  see  him  occasionally 
on  vases  as  early  as  the  end  of  the  Fifth  Century  b.  c.,  and 
more  frequently  afterwards.  Especially  noticeable  is  a 
prize  amphora  in  the  British  Museum,  with  a design  of  two 
boxers  and  dated  b.  c.  336,  so  that  there  is  no  question  of 
its  representing  the  type  of  boxer  in  the  time  of  Lysippus. 
The  head  is  small  and  accustomed  to  alertness  ; the  body 


128 


THE  APOXYOMENOS 


short  but  powerful,  the  legs  long  and  massive.  We  cannot 
.however  suppose  that  in  his  statues  of  Zeus  or  Poseidon, 
there  was  any  sensible  diminution  of  the  heads,  and  accord- 
ingly we  accept  as  a fair  representation  of  his  style  in 
deities  of  this  order  a bronze  statuette  of  Poseidon,  now  in 
the  British  Museum.  It  was  found  at  Paramythia  in  Epirus, 
and,  whoever  the  sculptor  may  have  been,  it  is  a most 
beautiful  piece  of  Greek  workmanship,  large  in  style  and 
faithful  in  every  detail.  In  youthful  athletic  figures  like 
the  Apoxyomenos  of  the  Vatican,  and  perhaps  also  in  his 
statues  of  Hercules,  the  small  head  would  be  appropriate. 
As  yet,  however,  almost  the  only  undoubted  copy  of  a 
sculpture  by  him  is  the  Apoxyomenos  just  mentioned,  a 
marble  statue  copied  from  a bronze  original,  representing 
an  athlete  nude  and  scraping  himself  with  a strigil.  With 
it  the  literary  records  of  his  style  challenge  an  obvious  com- 
parison. The  long  limbs,  the  small  head,  the  diminished 
squareness  of  body,  are  all  readily  recognizable.  On  the 
other  hand  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  this  statue  was  a 
popular  favourite  in  ancient  Rome,  and  that  the  Roman 
writers  to  whom  we  owe  all  that  is  known  of  the  style  of 
Lysippus  may  have  formulated  some  of  their  notions  from 
it,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  colossal  Zeus  from  Tarentum, 
and  other  works  by  him  to  be  seen  also  in  Rome. 

Otherwise  the  coincidence  would  be  too  remarkable ; and 
indeed  it  is  shown  to  be  so  from  the  failure  which  ensues 
when  it  is  sought  to  demonstrate  on  the  Apoxyomenos  the 
application  of  certain  other  remarks  that  they  have  handed 


THE  APOXYOMENOS 


129 


down  in  regard  to  his  style.  They  speak  of  minute  finish 
of  detail,  of  improvement  in  the  rendering  of  the  hair,  of 
animation  in  the  expression.  These  are  qualities  which 
speak  irresistibly  in  the  bronze  lately  mentioned.  But  they 
are  not  possessed  in  any  unusual  degree,  if  at  all,  by  the 
Apoxyomenos.  The  hair  of  that  statue  does  not  differ  from 
the  hair  of  the  Hermes  by  Praxiteles.  Even  the  form  of 
the  head  may  be  compared  with  that  of  the  Hermes. 
There  is  no  special  finish  of  details.  We  must  assume  that 
his  success  in  these  matters  was  known  from  other  statues 
such  as  the  Zeus.  Without  them  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
what  may  have  been  meant  by  his  u symmetry  ” and  his 
truthfulness  to  nature,  the  more  so  when  in  this  latter 
quality  he  is  compared  with  Praxiteles,  for  whom,  as  we 
have  seen,  nature  presented  herself  in  a peculiar  aspect.  So 
far  as  animated  expression  is  truthfulness  to  nature  we  may 
well  allow  that  Lysippus  took  rank  with  Praxiteles,  and 
that  was  probably  enough  for  a Roman  writer  to  found  a 
comparison  on. 


THE  SLEEPING  ARIADNE 

( Fourth  Century  B.  C.) 

WOLFGANG  HELBIG 

AS  early  as  the  Pontificate  of  Julius  II.  this  figure 
adorned  a fountain  in  the  Belvedere  Garden 
[Jahrbuch  dts  Arch . Inst.  v.  1890).  The  nose  and  lips  are 
restorations,  also  the  right  hand,  the  third  and  fourth  fingers 
of  the  left  hand,  the  rock  on  which  the  figure  reclines,  the 
end  of  the  robe  hanging  down  over  the  rock  below  the  left 
elbow,  and  the  horizontal  section  of  this  garment  between 
the  rocky  projection  and  the  vertical  fold  hanging  from  the 
thigh. 

As  we  gather  from  a comparison  with  other  monuments, 
Ariadne  is  here  represented  sunk  in  the  sleep  during  which 
Theseus  abandoned  her.  Her  slumbers  are  far  from 
tranquil ; the  somewhat  constrained  attitude  and  the  con- 
fused folds  of  her  robe  clearly  indicate  that  she  has  restlessly 
changed  her  position,  visited  by  dreams  prophetic  of  her 
coming  distress.  Various  defects  in  the  execution  prevent 
us  from  regarding  this  figure  as  a genuine  original.  The 
sculptor  has  failed  to  distinguish  with  the  necessary  clear- 
ness between  the  chiton  immediately  above  the  feet  and  the 
mantle  spread  over  it.  But  the  writer  is  not  inclined  to  at- 
tach too  much  weight  to  this  circumstance,  as  it  is  possible 


THE  SLEEPING  ARIADNE,  VATICAN 


THE  SLEEPING  ARIADNE  131 

and  even  probable  that  the  indistinctness  of  the  plastic 
work  was  rectified  by  the  original  painting  of  the  figure. 
On  the  other  hand  it  would  be  difficult  to  discover  any 
such  excuse  for  the  treatment  of  the  face,  which,  as  Winck- 
elmann  pointed  out,  is  somewhat  one-sided. 

How  we  are  to  imagine  the  original  of  this  figure  is  one 
of  the  hardest  problems  of  archaeology.  We  know  several 
mural  paintings,  and  several  sarcophagus-reliefs  influenced 
by  paintings,  representing  Dionysus  and  his  thyrsus  ap- 
proaching the  sleeping  Ariadne,  whose  figure  in  these  ex- 
hibits a close  relation  to  that  of  the  Vatican  sculpture.  We 
are  thus  faced  by  the  following  alternatives  : either  these 
mural  paintings  and  reliefs  have  been  influenced  by  works 
of  statuary,  among  which  was  the  original  of  the  Vatican 
Ariadne,  or  we  must  look  for  the  original  of  this  figure  in 
some  painting,  which  has  also  exercised  an  influence  on 
the  Campanian  mural  paintings  and  the  Roman  sarcophagus- 
reliefs.  On  the  whole,  the  latter  seems  the  more  probable 
supposition.  That  the  original  of  the  figure  before  us  be- 
longed to  a plastic  group  of  the  finding  of  Ariadne  by 
Dionysus  seems  highly  improbable,  for  no  satisfactory  ar- 
rangement of  such  a group  can  be  suggested.  If  we  sup- 
pose that  the  group  consisted  of  only  two  figures,  viz., 
Ariadne  herself  and  Dionysus  contemplating  the  beautiful 
sleeper,  where  must  we  suppose  the  latter  to  have  been 
placed  ? Certainly  not  in  front  of  the  Ariadne,  for  his 
back  in  that  case  would  be  turned  towards  the  spectator. 
If  we  suppose  him  to  have  been  behind  Ariadne,  then  the 


132 


THE  SLEEPING  ARIADNE 


lower  portion  of  the  god  would  be  concealed  by  the  figure 
in  front ; while  if  Dionysus  were  placed  on  one  side,  the 
constituents  of  the  group  would  be  deprived  of  their  due 
equilibrium. 

Since,  however,  we  know  that  towards  the  end  of  the 
Fourth  Century  b.  c.  sculpture  had  already  begun  to  bor- 
row motives  from  painting,  and  that  the  practice  became 
more  and  more  frequent  as  time  went  on,  it  is  easily  con- 
ceivable that  some  sculptor  detached  the  figure  of  the  sleep- 
ing Ariadne  from  its  surroundings  in  some  painting,  and 
reproduced  it  plastically.  Separate  motives  from  the  same 
painting  may  have  been  utilized  by  the  mural  painters  of 
Campania  and  the  sarcophagus-carvers  of  Rome,  whose 
pattern-books  are  well  known  to  have  contained  more  de- 
signs from  paintings  than  from  sculptures.  In  this  con- 
nection we  naturally  recall  the  painting  in  the  Temple  of 
Dionysus  at  Athens,  which,  according  to  Pausanias,  repre- 
sented the  sleeping  Ariadne,  with  Theseus  abandoning  her 
and  Dionysus  approaching  to  bear  her  off  as  his  wife. 

The  forms  of  the  Vatican  statue  are  of  a dignified  char- 
acter, recalling  the  plastic  types  of  the  Fourth  Century 
b.  c.,  whereas  the  allied  figures  in  the  mural  paintings  and 
sarcophagus-reliefs  exhibit  the  tender,  sensuously  charming 
forms  that  are  characteristic  of  Hellenic  art.  So  that  it  ap- 
pears that  the  sculptor  of  this  figure  has  reproduced  the 
original  type  more  faithfully  than  the  mural  painters  or  the 
carvers  of  the  sarcophagi. 

This  statue  is  placed  upon  Sarcophagus  with  Giganto- 


THE  SLEEPING  ARIADNE 


r33 


machia,  formerly  in  possession  of  the  sculptor  Cavaceppi. 
The  giants,  whose  legs  end  in  serpents,  are  here  warring 
against  the  gods,  whom  we  must  imagine  as  on  the  top  of 
Olympus,  above  their  antagonists.  The  giants  hurl  masses 
of  rock  aloft,  and  endeavour  to  ward  off  the  missiles  of  the 
gods  with  huge  tree-trunks  and  with  the  skins  of  animals 
wrapped  round  their  left  arms.  But  it  is  clearly  shown 
that  their  furious  onslaught  is  in  vain.  One  young  giant 
is  stretched  lifeless  on  the  ground,  a second  is  writhing  in 
the  death-agony,  while  two  others,  one  struck  in  the  back 
by  a thunderbolt,  are  collapsing  in  death.  The  composi- 
tion is  simple  and  full  of  dramatic  life.  But  at  the  same 
time  it  displays  distinctly  characteristics  appropriate  to  a 
painting  and  has  several  separate  motives  that  accord  ill 
with  the  conditions  of  relief,  though  their  expression  would 
present  no  difficulty  to  a pencil.  This  is  especially  evi- 
dent in  the  foreshortening  of  the  head  and  back  of  the 
dying  giant  falling  forwards.  It  thus  appears  that  the 
sculptor  was  influenced  by  a painting  of  the  Giganto- 
machia ; and  we  are  warranted  in  referring  this  painting  to 
the  Hellenistic  epoch  from  the  close  relationship  the  sar- 
cophagus reveals  to  the  frieze  of  the  giants  from  Pergamum. 

On  the  left  lateral  field  of  the  Sarcophagus  are  two 
giants,  whose  action  shows  them  to  be  too  exhausted  to 
take  an  energetic  part  in  the  fight.  On  the  right  field  are 
two  dead  giants. 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 

( Fourth  Century  B.  C.) 

J.  E.  HARRISON 

IN  the  British  Museum,  in  passing  from  the  Archaic 
Greek  Sculpture  Room  to  the  room  of  the  Mausoleum 
Marbles,  the  visitor  enters  a small  antechamber.  Here, 
on  his  right,  he  sees  the  statue  of  a seated  woman  whose 
beauty  can  scarce  pass  unnoted  by  the  most  careless. 
There  is  a softness,  there  is  a pathos  in  the  face,  a look  of 
tempered  sadness  about  the  mouth  and  eyes  that  make  us 
say  instinctively,  as  we  might  of  some  human  acquaintance  : 
u That  face  has  had  a history.”  The  woman  has  passed 
the  first  bloom  of  youth  ; it  would  be  sad  indeed  if  such 
pathos  were  imprinted  on  the  features  of  a young  girl. 
Her  figure  too  is  full  and  matronly  ; she  wears  the  veil 
that  has  been  her  bridal  attire  ; ample  drapery  is  cast  about 
her  in  beautiful,  simple,  almost  careless  folds ; her  hair  is 
long  and  abundant.  She  is  very  calm  for  all  her  sorrow, 
and  very  gracious. 

Hers  is  a famous  history.  She  is  Demeter,  the  holy 
goddess.  Herself  most  beautiful,  she  had  a daughter  lovely 
as  herself,  Persephone  by  name,  a maid  with  w slender 
ankles,”  the  poet  tells  us.  One  day  in  Enna,  Persephone 
was  playing  in  a soft  meadow,  gathering  flowers — crocus 
and  violet,  and  flowering-reed  and  hyacinth  and  narcissus — 


DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS,  BRITISH  MUSEUM 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


*35 


when  of  a sudden  the  earth  yawned,  and  forth  there  burst 
a golden  chariot,  and  Aides,  the  dread  king  of  the  lower 
world,  seized  the  maiden  and  bore  her  weeping  and  wailing 
away  to  be  his  queen  in  the  shades  below.  The  incident 
was  known  to  the  ancients  as  the  Kathodos,  or  Going- 
Down — as  the  descent  of  Persephone  into  Aides’s  kingdom, 
whence  she  was  to  return  in  her  Anados,  or  Rising-Up. 

So  the  daughter  was  ravished  away,  and  seen  no  more 
of  men,  nor  of  gods.  In  her  great  despair  the  Mother 
fared  forth  blindly  across  the  whole  wide  earth  for  nine 
days  long,  tasting  nor  ambrosia  nor  nectar,  neither  refresh- 
ing her  weary  limbs  with  fair  water ; till  on  the  tenth  day 
Hekate,  the  torch-bearer  of  the  realms  of  death,  encountered 
her,  asked  of  her  sorrow,  and  together  they  betook  them  to 
the  sun  god,  Helios,  who  sees  all  things.  He,  and  he  only, 
knew ; and  he  told  her  the  fate  of  her  lost  child.  And  he 
bade  her  be  of  good  cheer,  for  she  had  for  her  son-in-law 
the  great  King  Aidoneus,  and  King  Zeus  had  given  com- 
mand that  so  it  should  be. 

But  the  mother  cared  little  for  the  royalty  of  the  under- 
world, and  in  bitterness  of  heart  she  wandered  forth  anew. 
At  length  she  came  to  Eleusis,  to  the  land  of  King  Keleos. 
Here  Demeter  disguised  herself  as  an  ancient  serving 
woman  and  was  hired  by  the  queen  Metaneira  to  take 
charge  of  her  infant  son  Demophoon.  By  the  divine 
nurture  of  the  goddess  the  child  grew  as  a young  god,  for 
by  day  the  wondrous  Nurse  anointed  him  with  ambrosia, 
and  at  night,  when  his  parents  saw  not,  she  laid  him  in 


136 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


the  living  fire.  But  one  night  the  fear-girdled  Metaneira, 
in  her  foolish  fondness,  kept  watch ; and  she  cried  aloud  to 
see  the  peril  of  her  boy.  And  Demeter  heard  her,  and 
was  wroth  that  a mortal  should  gainsay  her  when  she 
would  have  given  her  nurseling  immortality.  She  spake 
and  revealed  herself,  and  bade  them  build  her  a fair  temple 
wherein  she  might  teach  them  to  do  worship.  The  fair 
temple  was  upreared ; but  Demeter  still  sat  apart  in  bitter- 
ness and  grief  for  her  daughter.  And  she  sent  trouble 
upon  the  world,  and  for  the  full  circle  of  a year  withheld 
the  fruits  of  the  earth,  so  that  men  ploughed  and  sowed  in 
vain,  nor  would  she  know  pity  nor  relent  till  Zeus  made 
promise  that  her  daughter  should  be  given  her  again. 

Then  Hermes  went  down  into  the  house  of  Aides,  and 
found  him  by  Persephone  ; and  Aides,  when  he  had  heard 
the  bidding  of  Zeus  and  the  sore  anger  of  Demeter,  smiled, 
for  he  was  no  ungentle  husband,  and  bade  Persephone  go 
forth  and  comfort  her  mother  once  more.  But  first,  he 
craftily  gave  her  the  honey-sweet  seed  of  a pomegranate  to 
eat,  that  she  might  return  to  him  again.  In  the  Homeric 
hymn  we  hear  that  King  Aides  sent  forth  his  queen  with 
all  the  pomp  and  pride  and  circumstance  befitting  her 
august  destiny,  in  a golden  car,  with  swift  deathless  horses. 
The  poet  tells  us  that  the  longing  mother  rushed  forth  to 
meet  her  child  like  a wild  Maenad  flying  amid  the  moun- 
tains ; how,  united  at  last,  they  comforted  their  hearts ; and 
how  the  compact  was  made  that  for  two-thirds  of  the  year 
Persephone  should  dwell  with  her  mother  in  Olympus,  and 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


I37 


for  the  other  third  (because  she  had  eaten  of  the  pome- 
granate seed)  she  should  abide  with  Aides,  the  grim  yet 
kindly  king,  in  the  shades  below.  Then  at  last  Demeter 
relaxed  from  her  sore  displeasure  and  again  she  let  the 
fields  bear  their  crops,  that  men  might  have  food,  and  the 
gods  their  sacrifice;  and  there  was  gladness  over  the  whole 
earth.  And,  moreover,  she  revealed  her  mysteries  to  the 
just  king  of  the  country,  to  Triptolemos,  to  Diokles,  to 
Eumolpos  and  to  Keleos,  who  had  sway  over  the  people. 
These  rites  and  mysteries  it  was  lawful  for  no  man  to  utter, 
but  blessed  be  he  who  might  behold  them. 

As  the  goddess  of  corn  and  plenty,  the  patron  of  the 
fruitful  earth,  she  was  linked  in  a special  manner  with 
Triptolemos  who  became  a central  figure  in  Attic 
mythology,  and  is  represented  with  endless  variety  on  vase- 
paintings.  As  signified  by  his  name  he  is  the  u thrice- 
plougher” ; and  as  such  he  is  the  counterpart  of  Demeter, 
the  Earth-Mother.  Tradition  varies  as  to  his  birth.  Some- 
times he  is  a local  king,  sometimes  he  is  the  child  Demeter 
nursed,  but  always  he  is  the  messenger  she  sends  forth  to 
bear  the  seed  of  corn  over  the  wide  earth.  His  connection 
with  Demeter  marks  for  the  most  part  the  primary  and 
simplest  aspects  of  the  goddess  of  the  bounteous  fruit- 
bearing Earth.  The  Greeks  knew  of  other  earth  goddesses 
than  Demeter,  but  these  were  rather  personifications  of  the 
earth  uncultivated,  barren  and  terrible,  not  of  the  earth  as 
a fruitful  mother.  Of  these  primeval  and  dreadful  earth 
goddesses — of  Ge  and  Rhea — it  is  never  told  that  they  had 


138 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


a fair  daughter  who  sported  in  the  Maytime  meadow-land. 
Demeter,  then,  is  the  goddess  of  the  cultivated  earth,  the 
goddess  who  bade  man  cease  from  his  wandering  ways  and 
build  him  houses  and  sow  seed  and  gather  of  her  fruits. 
It  follows  naturally  that  she  is  the  great  giver  of  laws,  the 
bringer  of  fixed  ordinances  and  of  settled  customs.  She  is 
the  goddess  of  marriage,  the  patron  deity  of  civilized 
woman,  worshipped  by  her  with  ceremonies,  for  the  most 
part  unknown,  at  the  great  festival  of  the  Thesmaphoria, 
upon  which  no  man  might  look  and  live. 

So  far  our  vision  of  the  Demeter  cycle  is  clear;  her  as- 
pect is  full  of  peace  and  prosperity  ; but  there  is-  a sadder, 
a more  mysterious  side  to  the  character  of  the  Mighty 
Mother.  The  fair  daughter,  Persephone,  in  whom  are 
figured  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth,  gladdens  the  world  in 
the  springtide.  But  in  the  autumn  and  winter  the  mother 
is  reft  of  her  child ; the  fruits  die  down  and  are  seen  no 
more  ; Persephone  is  the  bride  of  Aides.  Not  one  year,  but 
always  is  enacted  the  great  parable  of  the  Kathodos — the 
Going-Down.  Still  the  spring  time  returns;  the  flowers 
arise;  again  the  earth-mother  rejoices,  for,  in  the  gladness 
of  this  Resurrection,  this  Anados,  Persephone  leaves  the 
dark  dwelling  of  Aides  to  bring  light  and  joy  to  mankind. 
This  dying,  this  uprising,  this  Resurrection  after  death,  is 
it  for  men  as  well  as  flowers  ? 

With  all  these  complicated  associations  present  to  our 
minds  with  the  thought  of  Demeter  as  the  kindly  goddess 
of  the  fertile  earth,  as  the  stricken  mother,  as  the  mistress 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


139 


of  the  sacred  love  of  an  after-life,  let  us  look  once  more  at 
her  face  as  it  is  presented  in  the  statue  so  happily  trans- 
ferred from  Cnidos.  It  was  found  by  Mr.  C.  T.  Newton, 
on  a rocky  platform  below  the  Acropolis  at  Cnidos,  at  the 
base  of  a limestone  cliff  of  extraordinary  steepness.  This 
platform  is  known,  from  inscriptions  found  near  the  statue, 
to  have  been  dedicated  to  Aides  and  Hermes,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Demeter  and  Persephone,  and  other  kindred 
divinities.  It  is  thought  to  have  been  the  enclosure  to  a 
private  chapel ; and  from  the  character  of  the  letters  of  the 
inscription  Mr.  Newton  dates  the  dedication  at  about 
350  b.  c.  This  beautiful  statue  was  therefore  in  all  proba- 
bility the  work  of  a sculptor  of  the  time  of  Praxiteles. 
The  master’s  greatest  work,  the  incomparable  “Aphrodite,” 
was  executed  for  this  very  city  of  Cnidos,  whose  citizens 
refused  to  barter  their  statue  for  the  payment  of  their  whole 
civic  debt.  I have  spoken  of  the  great  expressiveness  of 
the  face.  It  is  just  this  quality  of  expressiveness  which  is 
characteristic  of  Praxiteles  and  his  contemporaries.  After 
the  ideal  beauty,  the  abstract  perfection  of  Phidias,  as  we 
know  it  in  the  Parthenon  marbles,  there  came  a tendency 
to  the  utterance  of  individual  emotion,  of  pathos,  touching 
with  earthly  unrest  the  faces  even  of  Olympian  gods.  This 
is  no  conjecture ; we  have  now  a criterion  by  which  to 
judge  of  the  style  of  Praxiteles,  an  actual  original  undoubt- 
edly from  the  master’s  hand,  the  famous  “ Hermes  ” of 
Olympia.  Far  higher,  because  far  calmer,  is  the  beauty  of 
our  u Demeter,”  though  the  world  knows  less  of  her  fame, 


I40  THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 

and  though  the  name  of  her  sculptor  is  uncertain.  It  may 
have  been  Praxiteles  himself  at  a time  of  riper  skill,  ma- 
turer  inspiration,  when  the  fever  of  youth  had  calmed  itself. 
Still  there  is  in  her  face  that  quality  of  personal  feeling  for 
which,  so  far  as  we  know  it,  we  look  in  vain  among  the 
sculptures  of  the  time  of  Phidias.  Professor  Briinn,  in  an 
elaborate  criticism  of  the  head,  notes  that  the  skin  of  the 
brow  is  drawn  at  both  sides,  as  with  protracted  weeping ; 
that  the  outside  corners  of  the  mouth  sink  sadly ; that  the 
parted  lips  seem  to  sigh;  that  in  the  curiously  small  face, 
in  the  lifted  far-off  eyes,  there  is  a general  expression  of 
weary  yet  patient  expectation.  She  is  the  mother  who, 
year  by  year,  must  long  for  her  daughter — the  goddess 
who  knows  of  the  dimness  of  the  world  below  as  well 
as  of  the  brightness  of  the  world  above.  We  do  not 
worship  her  in  the  simple  fashion  of  the  Lady  Chrysina 
(who  dedicated  the  shrine  at  the  bidding  of  Hermes  in  a 
dream)  with  votive  offerings  of  tiny  marble  pigs  and 
lighted  lamps,  nor  do  we  in  our  gloomier  moments  devote 
to  her  avenging  might  the  neighbours  who  have  stolen  a 
garment,  or  a bracelet,  or  a husband.  But  we  may  give  a 
thought  sometimes  to  the  higher  physical  and  spiritual  con- 
ceptions which  found  their  embodiment  in  the  myth  she 
personifies ; and,  if  we  enter  the  little  temenos  in  which  she 
is  now  enshrined  anew,  we  may  give  at  least  one  reverent 
upward  look  at  the  changeless  beauty  of  her  immortal  face. 

ct  Open  to  all  emotions  and  saturated  with  a deep  stream 
of  humanity  the  art  of  the  Fourth  Century  b.  c.  was  strong 


THE  DEMETER  OF  CNIDOS 


I4I 

in  its  expression  of  the  sentiments  of  the  soul.  The 
anonymous  masterpiece  Demeter  found  at  Cnidos  is  an  ex- 
ample of  this.  In  the  complex  character  of  Demeter,  the 
artist  has  chosen  the  facial  expression  that  brings  it  closest 
to  humanity — maternal  love — and  he  has  created  the  most 
noble  image  that  could  be  imagined  of  the  goddess  mother 
vowed  to  eternal  grief  for  her  vanished  daughter.  There  is 
a kind  of  weariness  in  the  attitude.  The  himation  thrown 
across  the  bust  and  brought  over  the  head  like  a mourning 
veil  is  negligently  disposed,  and  under  its  loose  folds  the 
form  of  a matron  is  revealed.  But  the  whole  of  the  ex- 
pression is  concentrated  in  the  face.  Carved  out  of  a block 
of  Parian  marble  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the  statue, 
the  head  has  a strangely  intense  expression.  The  work  is 
neither  dated  nor  signed,  but  the  breadth  of  style,  and  depth 
of  feeling  betray  the  influence  of  the  great  Attic  masters, 
and  we  should  make  no  mistake  in  giving  the  honour  of  the 
statue  of  Cnidos  to  one  of  the  contemporaries  of  Praxiteles  ” 
(. Maxime  Collignori), 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 

(Greeco- Roman  Period') 

WALTER  COPLAND  PERRY 

THIS  most  universally  known  and  most  popular  of  an- 
cient statues  was  discovered  towards  the  end  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century  at  Capo  d’  Anzo  (Antium),1  the  birthplace 
of  Caligula  and  Nero,  the  latter  of  whom  loved  to  pose  as  the 
representative  of  the  u fair-haired  ” and  “ musical  ” god. 
The  missing  left  hand  and  fingers  of  the  right  hand,  with 
the  all  important  attributes  which  they  bore,  were  restored 
in  1532  by  Montorsoli,  a pupil  of  Michael  Angelo.  It  is 
still  a matter  of  dispute  whether  the  marble  of  this  statue  is 
Greek  or  Italian. 

The  ct  radiant  Pythian  ” is  represented  marching  along 
with  his  left  arm  raised,  as  if  holding  aloft  some  object. 

1 “ In  all  probability  this  statue  was  not  found  at  Antium  (Porto  d’Anzio), 
as  is  usually  stated,  but  in  a ‘ tenuta  ’ (estate)  of  Cardinal  Giuliano  della 
Rovere  near  Grotta  Ferrata  ( Jahrbuch  des  Arch.  Inst.  v.  1890;  Arch. 
Anzeiger , pp.  48-50).  Giuliano,  after  he  had  become  Pope  Julius  II., 
placed  this  statue  in  the  Belvedere  Montorsoli  (d.  1546)  restored  the  top 
of  the  quiver,  the  left  hand,  the  right  forearm,  the  upper  part  of  the  stem 
and  various  small  fragments  on  the  drapery  and  legs.  . . . The  fact 

that  the  way  in  which  the  statue  should  be  restored  is  problematical  will 
not  detract  from  the  impression  it  makes  on  the  visitor  to  the  Museum. 
The  Apollo  Belvedere  may  lack  the  quiet  and  simple  dignity  that  we  ad- 
mire in  the  creations  of  the  best  Greek  period  ; but  it  makes  up  for  this 
by  the  effective  force  of  the  representation.  It  incorporates  in  the  most 
striking  manner,  what  the  Greeks  call  a theophany , i.  e.,  the  sudden  ap- 


APOLLO  BELVEDERE,  VATICAN 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


H3 


His  face  is  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  hand,  and  he  is 
gazing  with  a bold,  proud  and  triumphant  expression  into 
the  far  distance. 

The  first  appearance  of  this  beautiful  and  striking  work 
of  art  was  greeted  with  enthusiastic  joy,  and  in  all  succeed- 
ing ages  its  praises  have  been  sung  in  every  clime  and  lan- 
guage of  the  civilized  world.  No  man,  however  cold,  has 
viewed  it  without  emotion,  and  it  excited  to  the  highest 
pitch  the  glowing  artistic  feelings  of  the  illustrious  Winck- 
elmann — feelings  which  found  vent  in  the  loftiest  strains 
of  ecstatic  eulogy. 

“ The  statue  of  Apollo,”  he  says,  “ is  the  highest  ideal 
of  art  among  all  the  works  of  antiquity  which  have  escaped 
destruction.  The  artist  has  based  his  work  entirely  on  the 
Ideal,  and  has  employed  only  just  so  much  of  matter  in  its 
construction  as  was  necessary  to  carry  out  his  design  and 
make  it  visible.  The  Apollo  surpasses  all  other  images  of 
the  god,  as  far  as  the  Apollo  of  Homer  transcends  that  of 
succeeding  poets.  He  is  exalted  above  humanity,  and  his 
bearing  speaks  of  the  grandeur  with  which  he  is  filled.  An 
eternal  spring,  like  that  of  the  blessed  Elysian  Fields,  em- 

pearance  in  the  material  universe  of  a hitherto  invisible  deity.  The  inner 
life  is  most  clearly  expressed  in  the  face,  while  we  feel  at  the  same  time 
that  the  excitement  is  held  in  check  by  the  conscious  possession  of  divine 
strength.  That  the  Vatican  statue  is  not  an  original  Greek  work,  but  a 
copy  made  about  the  beginning  of  the  Empire,  is  conclusively  proved  on 
comparing  it  with  a marble  head,  discovered  at  Rome  and  now  in  the 
Museum  at  Basle.  This  head  essentially  agrees  with  the  statue  in  point 
of  type,  but  in  point  of  execution  reveals  the  principles  of  genuine  Greek 
art  to  a much  higher  degree.” — Wolfgang  Helbig. 


144 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


bathes  his  charming  manhood  of  ripe  maturity  combined 
with  the  loveliness  of  youth,  and  plays  with  soft  tenderness 
over  the  proud  structure  of  his  limbs.  Enter  in  spirit  into 
the  realm  of  incorporeal  beauty,  and  seek  to  be  the  creator 
of  a heavenly  nature,  to  invest  the  spirit  with  supernatural 
charms  ! For  there  is  nothing  mortal  here,  nothing  which 
human  necessities  and  weaknesses  require.  No  veins  or 
sinews  heat  or  excite  this  form ; but  a heavenly  spirit, 
poured  out  like  a gentle  stream,  has  filled  the  sphere  in 
which  this  figure  lives  and  moves. 

w I forget  all  else  as  I gaze  on  this  miracle  of  art,  and 
myself  assume  a lofty  attitude  to  contemplate  it  with  be- 
coming dignity.  My  bosom  seems  to  expand  like  that  of 
one  who  is  filled  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  I feel  myself 
transported  to  Delos  and  the  Lycian  groves  graced  by  the 
presence  of  Apollo  ; for  his  image  seems  endowed  with  life 
like  that  of  Pygmalion’s  beauty.  Art  herself  must  give  me 
counsel  and  guide  my  hand  in  filling  up  this  first  sketch 
which  I have  here  traced.  I lay  the  idea  of  this  statue, 
which  I have  endeavoured  to  clothe  in  words,  at  Apollo’s 
feet,  like  those  who  lay  their  garlands  at  the  feet  of  the 
Divinities  whom  they  fain  would  crown,  but  whose  heads 
they  cannot  reach.” 

It  is  well  for  us  to  learn  from  the  foregoing  rhapsody  the 
utmost  influence  which  a work  of  art  can  exercise  upon  a 
mind  at  the  same  time  sensitive,  sympathetic  and  instructed. 
And  if  his  eulogy — for  we  cannot  call  it  criticism — now 
seems  to  us  unjustified  and  overstrained,  we  should  remem- 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


H5 


ber  that  it  was  not  granted  to  Winckelmann  to  see  what 
we  see — that  le  mieux  est  toujours  /’ ennemi  du  bon — that  if  he 
had  seen  the  full  and  perfect  exemplification  of  his  own 
prophetic  definition  of  the  essential  characteristic  of  Greek 
art,  “ simple  grandeur  and  sublime  repose,”  his  admiration 
would  not  have  been  chilled  but  moderated,  and  he  would 
have  relegated  the  Vatican  Apollo  to  a somewhat  lower  rank. 

This  beautiful  and  famous  work  of  art  has  been  forages, 
and  still  remains,  one  of  the  greatest  riddles  of  Archae- 
ology ; and  in  discussing  it  we  have  to  make  our  way 
through  a whole  thicket  of  difficult  and  thorny  questions. 
It  is  not  mentioned  in  ancient  literature,  and  we  know 
neither  its  author  nor  its  age.  Is  it  an  original  or  a copy  ? 
If  a copy,  was  the  original  of  bronze  or  marble  ? Is  the 
work  before  us  of  Greek  or  Italian  marble  ? And  above 
all,  what  is  the  motif  ( concetto ) ? What  is  the  action  in 
which  the  god  is  engaged  ? 

To  all  these  questions  different  answers  are  still  given  by 
equally  competent  authorities. 

The  opinion  of  those  who  held  that  it  was  not  an  orig- 
inal work  of  the  Roman  period  was  sufficiently  justified  by 
the  grandeur  of  the  design,  and  has  been  amply  confirmed 
by  the  discovery  of  another  head  of  Apollo,  of  Greek  mar- 
ble, identical  in  design,  and  even  in  measurement  with  that 
of  the  Vatican  statue.  This  work,  called  the  Steinhauser 
head  after  the  discoverer,  was  found  a few  years  ago  in  a 
magazine  at  Rome,  and  is  now  at  Basle.  It  is  of  an  earlier 
and  simpler  style  than  the  Vatican  copy , is  far  more  Greek 


146 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


in  tone,  and  shows  a fresher  and  purer  feeling  for  organic 
structure.  It  may,  therefore,  fairly  be  regarded  as  stand- 
ing nearer  to  the  common  original  of  both.  With  regard 
to  the  material  of  that  original  we  have  the  concurrent 
opinions  of  an  illustrious  artist  and  an  illustrious  archaeol- 
ogist— Canova  and  Briinn — that  it  was  certainly  bronze 
and  not  marble.  u The  Vatican  head,”  says  Briinn,  “is  a 
bronze  work  even  in  marble,  and  the  artist,  even  in  order 
to  make  it  resemble  bronze  as  much  as  possible,  changes 
the  nature  of  marble  by  giving  it  an  artificial  polish,  and 
making  it  produce  its  effect  as  metal  does  by  a glancing 
surface  and  reflected  and  refracted  lights.” 

But  by  far  the  greatest  interest  attaches  itself  to  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  motif  of  the  statue.  It  is  quite  evident  that 
the  god  is  engaged  in  some  action  which  would  be  clear  to 
us  if  the  hands  had  not  been  mutilated.  According  to  the 
earlier  opinion  which  is  petrified  in  the  restoration  of  Mon- 
torsi, the  great  “ God  of  the  silver  bow  ” has  just  dis- 
charged an  arrow  at  the  Python  (Tityos  ? or  the  Niobids  ?) 
and  is  watching  the  effect  with  satisfaction.  Others  see  in 
him  “the  Bringer  of  the  Plague,”  shooting  at  the  Greeks 
before  Troy  who  had  dishonoured  his  holy  prophet.  Prel- 
ler  first  suggested  that  the  Apollo  Belvedere  might  be 
brought  into  connexion  with  the  defeat  of  the  Gauls  at 
Delphi  in  279  b.  c.,  on  which  occasion  several  statues — two 
Apollos,  an  Athene,  and  an  Artemis — were  offered  in  the 
Temple  of  Apollo  at  that  place. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  in  this  year  a body  of 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE  1 47 

Gauls  who  had  settled  in  Pannonia  (Hungary)  broke  into 
Greece  under  Brennus.  After  ravaging  Macedonia  they 
marched  through  Thessaly  to  Thermopylae,  which  once 
more  became  the  scene  of  heroic  patriotism  and  infamous 
treachery.  Some  Heracleots  played  the  part  of  the  foul 
villain  Ephialtes  in  the  old  Persian  days  and  led  the  Gauls 
into  the  country  by  the  mountain  pass  of  Anopaea.  In  this 
emergency,  says  Pausanias,  using  almost  the  very  words  of 
Herodotus,  “ the  Delphians  applied  to  the  Oracle  for 
counsel,  and  asked  whether  they  should  carry  away  the 
property  of  the  temple.”  “ I myself,”  the  God  replied, 
w and  the  White  Maidens  (Athene  and  Artemis)  will  take 
care  of  that.”  Encouraged  by  this  promise  of  assistance 
4,000  Greeks  stood  ready  to  defend  the  temple,  but  their 
presence  was  superfluous.  During  the  battle  which  ensued 
the  God  came  through  the  roof  of  his  temple  in  supernatural 
youthful  beauty,  and  the  White  Maidens  came  forth  from 
their  respective  sanctuaries  at  Delphi  to  drive  back  the 
sacrilegious  barbarians.  A mighty  heaven-sent  tempest 
arose  and  rocks  from  the  heights  of  Parnassus  fell  on  the 
heads  of  the  bewildered  Gauls.  The  twanging  bow  of 
Artemis,  the  clashing  shield  and  spear  of  Athene  were  heard 
above  the  din  of  storm  and  battle,  and  the  grim  flash  of  the 
awful  Gorgoneion  on  the  agis  of  Apollo  was  seen  through 
the  mists  and  clouds.  The  spectres  of  departed  heroes  ap- 
peared and  mingled  in  the  fray ; the  earth  shook  beneath 
the  feet  of  the  astonished  Gauls,  who  fled  in  dismay  and  fell 
an  easy  prey  to  the  pursuing  Greeks. 


148 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


The  Apollo  Belvedere,  therefore,  may  represent  the  God, 
as  with  the  proud  consciousness  of  invincibility  he  holds  up 
the  agis,  and  marks  with  a mingled  expression  of  scorn  and 
satisfaction  its  terrible  effect  on  the  ranks  of  the  Gauls.  It 
will  naturally  be  asked  how  Apollo  came  by  the  tzgis,  which 
is  not  his  proper  attribute  ? There  is  a precedent  even  for 
this  in  a passage  in  the  Iliad , which  records  how  Zeus  en- 
trusted his  son  with  the  dreaded  instrument  of  his  wrath: 

“Take  thou  and  wave  on  high  the  tasselled  shield. 

The  Grecian  warriors  daunting.” 

And  again, 

“When  he  (Phoebus)  turned  its  flash 
Full  on  the  faces  of  the  astonished  Greeks, 

And  shouted  loud,  their  spirits  within  them  quailed.” 

It  was  therefore  quite  open  to  the  artist  to  represent 
Apollo  in  his  character  of  Boedromios  (the  helper)  with  the 
agis  of  Zeus;  and  the  aspect  of  the  Vatican  statue,  the  self- 
reliant,  serenely-contemptuous  look,  suits  well  the  bearer 
of  an  irresistible  weapon. 

The  indiscriminating  and  extravagant  praise  of  its  earlier 
admirers  has  led  in  recent  times  to  an  equally  unwarranted 
depreciation  of  this  splendid  work  of  art.  In  such  a case  it 
is,  indeed,  difficult  to  be  just.  In  trying  to  be  so  we  must 
remember  that  the  design  and  the  style  are  of  different 
periods.  It  is  the  work  of  one  of  those  genial  eclectic 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


I49 


copyists  of  the  renaissance  of  Greek  art  in  Rome,  who,  hav- 
ing chosen  his  model  from  among  the  older  types,  was  not 
satisfied  with  merely  reproducing  it.  He  has  evidently  tried 
to  invest  it  with  the  charm  of  novelty  by  substituting  for  its 
grand  simplicity — which  is  partly  preserved  in  the  Stein- 
hauser  head — the  ultra-refinement  and  polished  elegance 
which  suited  the  taste  of  his  own  times. 

The  technical  execution  of  the  Belvedere  Apollo  shows  a 
master’s  hand.  The  artist  was  evidently  in  possession  of 
all  the  knowledge  and  all  the  skill  which  had  been  ac- 
cumulated in  past  ages.  We  see  Lysippus  in  the  form  and 
Praxiteles  in  the  face.  The  noble  limbs  are  modelled  with 
the  ease  and  freedom  which  are  the  result  of  perfect  mastery, 
and  the  proud  and  beautiful  face  from  which  the  Muses 
drew  their  inspiration,  gleams  with  expression  as  he  moves 
along  in  graceful  majesty,  bathed  in  the  purple  light  of 
eternal  youth.  And  yet  the  dainty  beauty  of  the  Apollo 
Belvedere  does  not  stir  the  deepest  springs  of  emotion  in 
those  who  have  the  finest  feeling  for  the  highest  forms  of 
Greek  Art.  Like  that  of  some  startling  theatrical  repre- 
sentation, the  first  effect  of  the  Vatican  Apollo  is  the 
strongest;  whereas  it  is  characteristic  of  the  greatest  works, 
— the  Theseus  of  the  Parthenon — the  Niobe — the  Demeter 
of  Cnidos — that  the  oftenerand  longer  we  gaze,  the  greater 
the  attraction  which  they  exercise  upon  us,  the  purer  and 
more  exalted  the  feelings  which  they  rouse  within  our 
breasts.  We  find  a difficulty  in  regarding  the  Vatican 
Apollo  as  the  object  of  worship  ; for  that  it  is  too  ornate.  It 


150 


THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE 


is  rather  like  the  embodiment  of  the  day-dreams  of  a 
powerful,  bright,  but  somewhat  luxurious,  imagination, 
which  is  not  satisfied  with  the  majesty  of  nature,  the  awful 
dignity  of  the  Godhead,  but  must  invest  its  idol  with  the 
external  trappings  of  some  Prince  of  a fairy  tale.  Such  an 
image,  if  worshipped  at  all,  could  only  be  the  favourite 
divinity  of  an  elegant  and  sumptuous  court. 


THE  DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES 

(Diana  d la  Biche') 

(Leo chares  (r>).  Fourth  Century  B.  C.) 

CHARLES  OTHON  FREDERIC  JEAN  BAPTISTE 
DE  CLARAC 

DIANA,  called  by  the  Greeks  Artemis,  was  probably 
the  goddess  of  hunting  among  the  Palasgi,  the  god- 
dess who  watched  over  the  fields  and  flocks.  It  was  in  this 
character  that  she  continued  to  be  worshipped  in  Arcadia,  a 
country  where  the  Pelagic  traditions  were  long  preserved. 
This  character  of  a goddess  of  hunting  has  always  remained 
with  Diana,  even  after  it  had  ceased  to  belong  to  her  ex- 
clusively ; and  it  gave  rise  to  several  of  the  epithets  char- 
acteristic of  the  goddess.  Her  ancient  type,  however, 
seems  originally  to  have  borrowed  some  of  its  traits  from 
the  personification  of  the  moon,  whose  attributes  she  later 
reflected  in  a clearer  form  when  she  received  the  name  of 
Phoebe.  Her  quality  as  the  daughter  of  Latona  and  sister 
of  Apollo,  already  given  to  her  by  Homer  and  the  tragic 
poets,  supports  this  idea.  As  the  sister  of  Apollo,  Artemis 
is  a sort  of  female  reproduction  of  that  god,  representing  her 
brother’s  character  and  power  under  an  analogous  form. 
Like  him  terrible,  she  aids  him  in  his  vengeances,  strikes 
men  and  flocks  with  cruel  epidemics,  and  takes  particular 
pleasure  in  piercing  women  with  her  sharp  arrows.  Like 
Apollo,  she  also  presents  herself  under  beneficent  and 


152 


THE  DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES 


restorative  guise.  Then  she  appeases,  and  turns  aside  the 
calamities  that  are  withering  mankind,  and  offers  herself  to 
their  adoration  as  the  divinity  who  blesses  and  who  relieves 
suffering.  It  is  in  this  case  particularly  that  she  receives 
the  name  of  Artemis,  which  signifies  one  who  saves. 

In  the  images  of  Diana,  art  has  always  preserved  the 
primitive  type  that  made  her  a sort  of  female  Apollo. 
Like  the  god  of  day,  she  was  endowed  with  strength,  youth 
and  beauty.  It  is  particularly  with  the  attributes  of  the 
goddess  of  hunting  that  she  appears  in  the  works  of  the 
ancient  chisel.  The  images  that  present  her  with  the 
attributes  of  the  lunar  divinity  are  of  a more  modern  age, 
or  at  least  were  conceived  after  less  ancient  models.  The 
more  the  attributes  that  allude  to  her  character  as  a lumi- 
nous goddess  are  multiplied,  the  more  closely  the  date  of  the 
work  approaches  our  own  day.  Thus  the  torch  held  in 
her  hand  denotes  a work  of  more  modern  date  than  one 
with  the  crescent  which  is  seen  shining  on  the  brow  of 
the  goddess  quite  early. 

As  for  those  monuments  in  which  beauty,  elegance  and 
naturalness  are  sacrificed  to  a symbolical  idea,  such  as  the 
panthean  and  fantastic  figures  of  Diana  of  Ephesus  and 
the  Triple  Hecate,  they  belong  to  those  ages  when  art  had 
ceased  to  seek  in  the  ennobling  of  our  forms  the  type  of 
divine  perfection  ; they  have  wandered  far  from  the  golden 
age  of  Hellenic  art  in  which  anthropomorphism  cultivated 
in  the  human  mind  the  love  of  the  beautiful  and  the 
idealization  of  the  human  body. 


DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES,  LOUVRE 


THE  DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES 


*53 


Diana,  dressed  as  a huntress,  and  on  the  march,  reaches 
for  an  arrow  in  her  quiver  which  is  attached  to  her  shoulder 
by  a strap ; she  holds  the  bow  in  her  left  hand  lowered ; her 
legs  are  bare,  and  she  wears  rich  sandals  on  her  feet.  A 
hind  runs  at  her  side  and  seems  to  be  seeking  refuge  under 
the  protection  of  her  bow.  The  sister  of  Apollo  with  a 
quick  movement  turns  her  head  towards  her  quiver;  anger 
is  in  her  face ; her  hair,  surmounted  by  a little  diadem  in 
front  and  tied  at  the  back  of  the  head,  leaves  a high  and 
severe  brow  uncovered. 

It  appears  that  this  Diana  has  been  in  France  since  the 
reign  of  Henry  IV.  ; and  even,  according  to  Sauval,  it 
arrived  under  Francis  I.1  It  was  formerly  to  be  seen  in 
the  gallery  of  Versailles  ; but  it  had  first  been  at  Meudon, 
and  afterwards  at  Fontainebleau  in  the  queen’s  garden.  It 
was  restored  by  Barthelemy  Prieur,  who  was  reproached 
with  having  altered  the  beauty  of  the  legs  and  feet  by  im- 
prudent chiselling.  One  might,  in  fact,  be  tempted  to 
believe  this ; the  feet,  although  very  beautiful,  are  more 
pointed  than  those  of  antique  statues  generally  are,  and 
there  is  something  in  them  of  the  school  of  Germain  Pilon 
and  Prieur. 

1 Francis  I.,  an  enlightened  protector  of  the  Fine  Arts,  sent  Francisco 
Primaticcio,  a pupil  of  Giulio  Romano,  whom  he  had  attached  to  his 
service,  to  Italy  with  the  order  to  buy  antique  statues.  Primaticcio  sent 
back  one  hundred  and  eighty-four,  and  a large  number  of  busts,  some  of 
which  were  placed  at  Fontainebleau.  Vasari  says,  consequently,  that  that 
royal  residence  had  become  a new  Rome.  Henry  IV.  increased  this  col- 
lection. Cardinal  Richelieu  and  the  Constable  Montmorency  also  pro- 
cured from  Italy  a large  numbei^of  antique  works. 


154 


THE  DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES 


The  only  modern  parts  of  the  figure  of  Diana  are  the 
left  arm  below  the  deltoid  and  the  big  toe  of  the  right  foot. 
The  modern  parts  of  the  deer  are  the  lower  half  of  the  head, 
the  horns  a little  above  their  roots,  the  lower  half  of  the 
fore  legs,  the  ham  and  the  right  hind  leg  ; the  left  hind  leg 
has  been  similarly  restored,  but  the  lower  half  of  the  foot  is 
antique  and  belongs  to  the  base. 

We  have  in  this  statue  not  only  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
the  images  of  Diana  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  antiq- 
uity, but  also  one  of  the  most  beautiful  statues  of  antiq- 
uity, being  inferior  to  very  few  other  masterpieces.  The 
style  and  the  workmanship  of  this  great  piece  of  sculpture 
are  closely  related  to  what  people  admire  in  the  Apollo  Bel- 
vedere; the  two  heads  possess  the  same  nobility  and  a fam- 
ily resemblance  that  might  make  one  believe  they  were 
produced  by  the  same  hand.  The  costume  is  of  the  great- 
est elegance  : the  spartiate  tunic,  of  very  light  material  with 
little  pleats,  hemmed  at  the  bottom  does  not  in  the  least 
conceal  the  beauty  of  the  form  of  the  goddess,  and  her 
mantle,  tied  in  the  fashion  of  a girdle,  serves  even  to  accen- 
tuate the  contours.  Her  rich  footwear  is  a kind  of  sandals 
or  crepida  which  was  given  to  this  goddess  and  to  Apollo. 
Her  hair,  raised  behind  and  tied  en  corymbe , befits  a huntress, 
as  does  the  diadem  the  goddess  of  the  woods. 

The  antlers  with  which  the  head  of  the  hind  is  furnished 
would  seem  to  show  that  the  intention  here  was  not  to  rep- 
resent a natural  hind  as  a simple  symbol  of  the  chase,  since 
the  female  deer  has  no  antlers.  By  this  mark  we  are  meant 


THE  DIANA  OF  VERSAILLES 


155 


to  recognize  the  Cerynian  hind,  that  prodigious  deer,  with 
golden  horns  and  brazen  hoofs  that  was  consecrated  to  Di- 
ana. Hercules,  forced  by  the  Fates  to  obey  Eurystheus, 
received  from  his  tyrant  the  order  to  bring  that  animal  alive 
to  him  at  Mycene.  The  demigod,  after  having  pursued  it 
through  twenty  different  countries,  finally  found  it  in  Ar- 
cadia, at  the  ford  of  the  Ladon.  Hardly  had  he  got  it  in 
his  power,  when  Diana,  descending  from  the  mount  Arte- 
misium,  deprived  him  of  his  prey  which  she  claimed  as  her 
own  property,  and  threatened  him  with  her  vengeance. 
However,  being  appeased  by  the  prayers  of  the  hero,  she 
granted  him  possession  of  the  fatal  hind.1 

1 “ Between  the  Apollo  Belvedere  and  the  Diana  of  Versailles  a close 
relationship  of  style  has  long  been  recognized.  The  theory  that  groups  it 
with  the  Apollo  and  with  an  Athena  in  the  Capitoline  Museum  for  recon- 
stituting the  Delphic  ex-voto  consecrated  after  the  attack  of  the  Galatians 
has  found  and  still  finds  defenders.  But  if  the  hypothesis  must  be  rejected 
for  the  Apollo  it  must  be  also  for  the  Diana  ; it  is  difficult  to  imagine  that 
this  figure  of  a huntress  escorted  by  the  stag  should  have  found  a place  in 
a battle  scene.  What  remains  true  is  that  it  appears  to  have  been  con- 
ceived as  a pendant  for  the  Apollo , and  that  it  is  undoubtedly  a creation 
by  the  same  artist.  Moreover  there  is  nothing  in  this  statue  to  forbid  us 
to  attribute  it  to  the  Fourth  Century  B.  c. ; neither  the  form  of  the  costume, 
nor  the  type  of  the  head,  nor  the  movement  of  rapid  march,  already  given 
by  Praxiteles  to  his  Artemis  of  Anticyr a.  We  find  in  it  the  same  charac- 
teristics as  in  the  Apollo  ; a somewhat  cold  correctness,  great  elegance 
and  remarkable  slenderness  of  form,  and  very  severe  style  of  carriage. 
These  analogies  enable  us  to  pronounce  the  name  of  Leochares  as  the 
sculptor.” — M.  Collignon. 


THE  NILE 

(Gneco- Egyptian,  323-133  B . C.) 

WOLFGANG  HELBIG 

THIS  was  found  apparently  under  Leo  X.  (15 13-1522) 
near  the  Church  of  S.  Maria  sopra  Minerva,  and  was 
placed  by  this  Pope  in  the  garden  of  the  Belvedere.  Its 
companion  piece,  the  Tiber,  now  in  the  Louvre,  had  pre- 
viously been  found  in  the  same  place  under  Julius  II.  (Jan- 
uary, 1512)  and  forthwith  placed  in  the  Vatican.  Both 
statues  seem  to  have  formed  part  of  the  decoration  of  the 
Temple  of  Isis  that  stood  in  this  district.  The  Nile  was 
restored  under  Clement  XIV.  by  Gaspare  Sibilla.  Apart 
from  unimportant  patchings,  the  following  portions  are  re- 
stored : the  fingers  of  the  right  hand,  the  ears  of  corn  in 
that  hand  (the  previous  existence  of  which  was  proved  by 
the  stumps  on  the  left  calf),  the  toes,  the  upper  part  of 
nearly  all  the  children,  and  in  some  cases  still  more.  As 
these  restorations  are  easily  recognizable  from  the  different 
quality  of  the  marble  and  the  peculiar  treatment  of  the  sur- 
face, it  is  unnecessary  to  mention  them  in  greater  detail. 

The  Nile  shows  the  flowing  hair  and  beard  and  the 
wistful  expression  usually  assigned  by  Greek  artists  to  wa- 
ter-gods, but  there  is  also  an  air  of  benevolent  mildness  ap- 


THE  NILE,  VATICAN 


THE  NILE 


*57 


propriate  to  the  boon-conferring  stream.  The  left  elbow 
rests  upon  a sphinx,  the  symbol  of  Egypt.  The  wreath  of 
lotus-flowers,  reeds  and  ears  of  wheat,  the  sheaf  of  corn  in 
the  right  hand,  and  the  horn  filled  with  flowers  and  fruits 
in  the  left  hand,  all  refer  to  the  fertility  bestowed  by  the 
Nile  on  the  valley  through  which  it  flows.  The  pyramidal 
object  projecting  from  the  cornucopia,  of  frequent  occur- 
rence in  sculptures  of  sacrificial  offerings,  apparently  repre- 
sents a cake  or  a cheese.  The  manner  in  which  the  water 
wells  forth  near  the  small  end  of  the  horn,  beneath  the 
robe,  is,  perhaps,  a reference  to  the  mystery  veiling  the 
sources  of  the  Nile.  The  boys  typify  the  cubits  which  the 
river  rises  at  the  inundation,  and  their  number  (sixteen)  in- 
dicates the  maximum  rise  by  which  the  largest  portion  of 
the  country  is  inundated  and  so  fertilized.  At  the  feet  of 
the  god  three  boys  are  grouped  round  a crocodile,  and  by 
his  left  knee  two  others  beside  an  ichneumon.  The  latter 
appears  to  be  crawling,  obviously  bent  on  war,  towards  its 
natural  enemy,  the  crocodile.  The  gradual  rise  of  the 
stream  is  typified  by  four  boys  climbing  up  on  the  right  leg 
and  arm  of  the  god,  a fifth  standing  on  his  right  thigh,  and 
two  more  who  have  attained  the  culminating  height,  one 
sitting  on  the  god’s  right  shoulder,  the  other  standing  in 
the  cornucopia.  Sibilla’s  restoration  of  the  child  projecting 
from  the  cornucopia  is  open  to  doubt.  Perhaps  this  boy 
expressed  by  look  and  gesture  his  delight  at  reaching  the 
desired  eminence.  The  arrangement  of  the  children  seems 
to  have  been  most  carefully  calculated.  They  are  grouped 


i58 


THE  NILE 


most  closely  together  beside  the  right  arm  and  at  the  feet 
of  the  god,  where  empty  space  was  most  abundant,  and 
where  the  addition  of  accessories  would  least  interfere  with 
the  effect  of  the  main  figure ; beside  the  legs  and  trunk,  on 
the  other  hand,  they  are  more  scattered.  By  this  disposi- 
tion, the  massive  figure  of  the  god  is  thrown  into  most  effect- 
ive contrast  with  the  smaller  figures  of  the  children,  and 
his  tranquil  majesty  with  the  lively  motion  around  him. 

The  reliefs  on  the  base  illustrate  life  in  the  river  and  on 
its  banks.  Here  we  see  fights  between  crocodiles  and  hip- 
popotami ; a fight  between  a crocodile  and  an  ichneumon ; 
waterfowl,  in  which  some  recognize  the  trochilus,  believed 
by  the  ancients  to  befriend  the  crocodile  by  removing  the 
leeches  that  fastened  on  its  jaws ; boats  rowed  by  deformed 
pygmies,  who  are  threatened  by  crocodiles  or  hippopotami ; 
and  browsing  oxen.  The  flora  of  the  Nile  is  represented 
by  reeds  and  lotus-plants. 

The  association  of  the  Nile  and  the  Tiber  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  Roman  temple  of  Isis  indicates,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  source  of  the  cult  of  Isis,  and  on  the  other,  the 
new  home  which  that  cult  found  in  Latium.  The  statue 
of  the  Tiber  is  markedly  inferior  to  that  of  the  Nile,  both 
in  poetic  conception  and  in  composition  ; even  the  decora- 
tion on  its  base  is  bald  and  prosaic  beside  that  of  the  com- 
panion piece.  This  contrast  seems  to  prove  that  the  two 
statues  were  created  at  different  periods.  The  Nile,  in 
fact,  seems  to  be  the  product  of  an  older  and  more  richly 
endowed  art,  which  can  only  be  that  which  flourished  un- 


THE  NILE 


J59 


der  the  Ptolemies  at  Alexandria.  When  the  Temple  of 
Isis  came  to  require  decoration,  the  Alexandrian  original 
was  reproduced,  and  the  copy  received  as  its  companion  a 
Tiber  prepared  by  some  Graco-Roman  artist. 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE 

(Third  Century  B.  C .) 

LUCY  M.  MITCHELL 

TAKING  it  all  in  all,  Greece  itself  is  exceedingly  poor 
in  large  existing  monuments  from  the  late  stage  of 
its  history ; although  we  know  that  the  rulers  of  the  Hel- 
lenistic age  remembered  its  ancient  shrines  at  Olympia, 
Delphi  and  Athens.  There  is  one  shrine  on  a neighbour- 
ing island,  however,  which,  during  this  age,  came  to  enjoy 
a great  significance,  and  has,  fortunately,  been  so  admirably 
explored  by  the  Austrians  that  we  may  form  a very  vivid 
picture  of  its  artistic  ensemble , and  of  the  part  that  sculpture 
now  played.  This  is  the  sacred  island  of  Samothrace,  its 
rocky  cliffs  facing  the  shores  of  Thrace  and  separated 
from  them  by  a stormy  sea,  swept  by  the  north  winds 
which  rush  up  the  island  valley  in  the  midst  of  these  cliffs. 
Cyclopean  walls,  in  admirable  preservation,  testify  to  the 
antiquity  of  these  revered  seats ; and  fragments  of  a small 
Doric  temple  in  stone,  with  very  archaic  painted  forms 
and  bronze  ornaments,  show  the  existence  of  a humble 
shrine  in  the  depths  of  the  sacred  valley  in  the  Fifth  Cen- 
tury b.  c.  Although,  in  the  following  age,  this  ancient 
temple  seems  to  have  been  supplanted  by  a more  luxurious 
marble  structure  of  the  Ionic  order,  for  which  Scopas 
doubtless  worked,  it  was  not  until  the  Third  Century  b.  c., 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE,  LOUVRE 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE 


161 


when  the  island  had  sheltered  royal  refugees,  that  it  en- 
joyed greatest  prosperity  by  reason  of  its  right  of  asylum. 
Crowds  gathered  from  different  points  of  the  ancient  world, 
to  its  sacred  mysteries  ; numerous  temples  were  built  to  its 
gods  by  grateful  princes  and  princesses;  and  sculptured 
monuments  were  put  up  in  thanks  for  victory.  Could  we 
picture  to  ourselves  the  valley  as  it  then  appeared  to  the 
stranger  approaching  from  the  sea,  with  its  wealth  of  archi- 
tecture and  sculpture  glistening  among  the  verdure,  how 
different  the  spectacle  from  its  now  bare  ruins,  scattered 
marbles,  and  destructive  lime-kilns,  clinging  like  parasites 
to  every  site  of  classic  ruins  ! 

Overlooking  the  whole  peaceful  valley,  and  towering 
above  its  complex  of  temples,  would  have  been  seen,  stand- 
ing out  gloriously  against  the  regular  columns  of  the  neigh- 
bouring stoa , one  imposing  monument,  with  stormy  lines 
and  tempestuous  action.  Although  much  mutilated,  this 
monument,  in  Parian  marble,  shows  us  the  colossal  figure 
of  a fully-draped  female,  alighted  on  the  prow  of  a ship, 
and  represents  a winged  Nike,  who  sweeps  down  with 
lightning  speed  ; the  powerful  form,  with  its  rushing 
drapery,  seeming  to  force  a way  for  the  imposing  goddess 
of  victory.  The  commanding  position  of  this  statue, 
standing  of  old  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  reveals  to  us  with 
what  consummate  taste  charms  of  natural  landscape  were 
enhanced  by  the  imposing  art  of  this  Hellenistic  age.  The 
statue  itself,  in  an  exceedingly  fragmentary  condition,  was 
discovered  on  the  ancient  site  in  1867,  by  the  French  con- 


162 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE 


sul  Champoisseau,  who  sent  it,  with  other  minor  marbles, 
to  the  Louvre.  It  was  not  until  1875,  however,  that  the 
massive  pedestal,  in  the  shape  of  a ship’s  prow,  was  dis- 
covered, during  the  thorough  excavations  of  the  Austrian 
expedition  on  the  same  site.  Although  consisting  of 
twenty-three  fragments,  many  of  which  weigh  more  than 
two  thousand  kilogrammes,  the  whole  was  safely  removed 
to  the  Louvre,  and  there  built  up  again,  the  statue  stand- 
ing, as  of  yore,  upon  its  stony  prow,  below  which  the  sea- 
waves  are  indicated  by  sculpture.  The  colossal  form  of 
the  winged  goddess  towers  up,  more  than  double  life-size, 
above  this  massive  and  lofty  hulk.  Not  only  the  costly 
material  from  abroad — no  marble  being  found  in  Samo- 
thrace — but  also  the  colossal  size  and  marine  character  of  the 
monument  show  that  it  was  a thank-offering  from  some  royal 
donor  to  the  shrines  of  Samothrace  for  a great  naval  vic- 
tory. As  shown  by  Benndorf,  comparison  with  coins  of 
Demetrios  Poliorketes  struck,  probably,  between  294  and 
288  b.  c.,  makes  it  probable  that  he  it  was  who  erected 
this  superb  gift  in  honour  of  his  signal  successes  off  Salamis 
in  Cyprus,  in  306  b.  c.,  after  which  he  took  the  title  of 
king,  and  long  controlled  the  archipelago.  The  approxi- 
mate date,  the  first  half  of  the  Third  Century  b.  c.,  is 
fixed  for  the  statue,  not  only  by  this  coincidence  with  the 
coins,  but  also  by  its  magnificent  style,  very  like  to  that 
of  the  pedimental  sculptures  of  the  new  temple  at  Samo- 
thrace, proved  by  the  architectural  form  of  the  building  to 
date  from  this  age.  But  this  statue  is  grander  than  they, 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE 


163 


and  combines  intensified  realism  with  powerful  ideal  form 
and  action,  as  will  be  seen  most  forcibly  by  placing  its 
representation  alongside  of  those  of  the  preceding  centuries. 
Comparing  form  and  details  of  these  wings  with  those 
of  the  sculptured  columns  of  Ephesus,  how  much  more 
feathery  and  downy  the  marble  here  has  become  ! In  like 
manner,  comparison  with  the  dawning  realism  of  the 
Mausoleum  folds,  or  even  with  the  carefully  studied,  quiet 
lines  of  the  Hermes’  mantle,  to  say  nothing  of  the  plain 
folds  of  Paionios’  Nike,  shows  how  much  nearer  nature 
are  the  texture  and  surface  of  these  rushing,  swelling  folds. 
How  complicated  also  the  pose  of  this  goddess  ! The  up- 
per part  of  the  grand  body  swings  to  the  left,  while  the 
motion  of  the  whole  sweeps  forward  in  a direct  line.  Es- 
pecially do  these  more  advanced  features  appear  when  com- 
pared with  the  simpler  pose  of  the  old  Nike  by  Paionios. 
Excavations  have  shown  that  the  numerous  new  temples 
and  other  structures  of  Samothrace  were  built  in  the  first 
part  of  the  Third  Century  b.  c.,  about  the  older,  less 
sumptuous  sanctuary  of  the  preceding  age ; and  the  com- 
manding position  of  this  great  statue,  towering  above  all  the 
other  monuments  of  the  valley,  is  clearly  chosen  with  refer- 
ence to  them.  This  seems  another  evidence  that  its  date 
may  be  fixed  in  the  first  part  of  the  Third  Century.  Be- 
sides, the  technique  of  this  colossal  figure  is  no  longer  that 
of  old,  but  resembles  that  of  the  later  marbles  from  Per- 
gamon.  Instead  of  the  solid  blocks  which  in  the  olden 
ime  were  used  for  single  figures,  here  pieces  of  marble  are 


164  THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE 

joined  together  with  almost  incredible  skill  and  pains.  By 
this  marvellous  handling  of  the  marble,  the  ponderous  ma- 
terial was  naturally  robbed  of  its  impression  of  weight ; and 
far  greater  boldness  was  permitted  the  sculptor,  tempting 
him,  we  must  believe,  to  rival  even  painting  or  bronze  in 
his  obdurate  stone,  as  seems  evident  in  the  fragments  of 
the  swelling  mantle,  still  preserved.  Viewing  the  tre- 
mendous action  in  this  imposing  ruin,  and  catching  the 
grand  lines  of  the  noble  form,  how  strong  becomes  our  de- 
sire to  see  the  goddess  complete  once  again,  as  she  stormed 
down  on  her  swift  errand  in  the  palmy  days  of  Samothrace  ! 
From  the  fragments,  it  appears  that  both  arms  were  raised, 
perhaps  with  the  sounding  trumpet,  while  the  head,  follow- 
ing the  motion  of  the  body,  was  turned  momentarily  to  the 
left,  facing,  doubtless,  those  approaching  from  the  stoa. 
This  side  of  the  statue,  moreover,  from  which  it  would 
usually  be  seen,  is  its  only  highly  finished  part,  and  shows 
that  freedom  and  bold  skill  so  much  to  be  admired  in  most 
original  works  of  later  Greek  art.  But  the  back,  which 
could  not  appear,  having  been  in  front  of  a cyclopean  wall 
across  the  end  of  the  valley,  is  left  entirely  in  the  rough ; 
and  the  farther  side  is  but  hastily  sketched  out.  The  com- 
position, moreover,  is  such  that  the  lines  seen  from  the 
side  which  looked  down  upon  the  stoa  appear  to  greatest 
advantage.  This  shows  that  the  statue  was  conceived  di- 
rectly in  connection  with  its  surroundings,  and  that  its 
lines  were  intended  to  be  set  off  by  the  neighbouring  archi- 
tecture, and  perhaps  by  a background  of  colour, — bits  of 


THE  VICTORY  OF  SAMOTHRACE  1 65 

painted  stucco  having  been  found  among  the  ruins.  The 
creators  of  this  powerful  work  are  unknown.1  The  name 
of  Eutychides,  scholar  of  Lysippus,  and  painter  as  well  as 
sculptor,  has  been  mentioned  in  connection  with  it,  on  ac- 
count of  a kinship  of  spirit  between  this  work  and  the 
miniature  copy  of  his  Tyche  for  Antioch.  In  both  statues 
a regard  for  landscape  decoration  and  pictorial  elements  is 
thought  to  prevail,  and  there  is  evident  a peculiar  bravour 
in  the  treatment  of  the  drapery.  The  latter  feature  is 
scarcely  to  be  detected  in  the  details  of  the  feeble  Roman 
copy  of  the  Tyche,  but  may  be  traced  in  its  general  com- 
position. Further  excavations,  and  light  from  other  quar- 
ters, may,  we  hope,  in  time,  give  us  the  names  of  masters 
of  the  Hellenistic  age,  of  whom  we  know  so  little,  but 
whose  influence  we  feel  in  works  pulsating  with  such  tre- 
mendous life  as  the  Nike  of  Samothrace. 

1 “ The  Louvre  has  an  exact  date  : it  belongs  to  the  end  of  the  Fourth  or 
the  early  years  of  the  Third  Century  b.  c.  Now  this  epoch  in  which 
people  are  too  hasty  in  seeing  the  beginning  of  a decadence  produced  this 
pure  masterpiece.  In  the  Victory  of  Samothrace,  invention  and  style  rise 
to  the  same  level  and  the  sculptor  has  produced  an  original  work,  after 
generations  of  artists  had  treated  the  type  created  by  Paionios.  Did  he 
have  the  Nike  of  the  Parthenon  in  mind,  as  some  have  thought  ? As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  analogies  are  purely  superficial.  By  an  entirely  per- 
sonal inspiration,  the  artist  has  caught  that  beautiful  movement  of  the 
torso  which  inflates  the  chest  and  gives  a harmonious  swing  to  the  hips. 
Less  simple  in  arrangement  than  the  work  of  Phidias,  the  drapery  is  a 
marvel  of  execution.  . . . The  author  of  the  Victory  is  a master  of 

his  art.  Therefore  we  see  no  reason  to  mention  here  a pupil  of  Lysippus 
and  pronounce  the  name  Eutychides,  a worker  in  bronze.  We  would 
rather  think  of  a disciple  of  Scopas,  preserving  the  traditions  of  the  grand 
style  and  allying  with  it  the  virtuosity  of  execution  which  was  to  remain 
one  of  the  qualities  of  Hellenistic  art.” — Maxime  Collignon. 


THE  DYING  GAUL 

( School  of  Per  gam  us,  between  280-159  B.  C.) 

ERNEST  H.  SHORT 

HE  course  of  Pergamene  history  led  to  one  of  those 


emotional  outbursts  which  always  find  an  outlet  in 
national  action  and  often  in  art.  In  consequence,  evidence 
remains  of  a far  greater  body  of  sculptural  achievement  in 
Pergamus  than  we  find  in  the  Empire  of  the  Seleucidae. 
Indeed  the  force  and  originality  of  Pergamene  sculpture 
raises  it  far  above  any  artistic  effort  of  its  age.  This  will  be 
granted  directly  we  recall  The  Dying  Gaul  of  the  Capi- 
toline  Museum,  Rome,  is  a work  in  the  finest  Pergamene 
style.  When  Byron  wrote  the  two  cantos  in  Childe 
Harold  the  statue  was  known  as  the  Dying  Gladiator : 

“ I see  before  me  the  gladiator  lie  : 

He  leans  upon  his  hand — his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony. 

And  his  droop’d  head  sinks  gradually  low  — 

And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow. 

* * * * * * 

**  He  reck’d  not  of  the  life  he  lost  nor  prize. 

But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay. 

There  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play. 

There  was  their  Dacian  mother — he,  their  sire. 

Butchered  to  make  a Roman  holiday.” 


THE  DYING  GAUL,  CAPITOLINE,  ROME 


THE  DYING  GAUL 


167 


We  now  know  that  the  Pergamene  sculptor  sought  to 
show  one  of  his  country's  Gaulish  enemies  in  the  agony  of 
death.  The  barbarian  sinks  back  on  to  the  narrow  shield 
of  his  race.  At  his  side  is  his  battle-horn.  Round  his 
neck  the  Gallic  torques.  The  shaggy  eyebrows  and  the 
matted  hair  all  identify  the  figure  with  one  of  the  rude 
savages  whom  the  Latin  and  Greek  historians  describe  as 
fighting  naked  and  ignorant  of  the  elements  of  military 
science. 

Another  work  that  undoubtedly  belongs  to  the  school  of 
Pergamus  is  the  well-known  group  in  the  Villa  Ludovisi, 
often  called  Paltus  and  Arria.  A more  correct  title  is  The 
Gaul  killing  his  Wife.  The  warrior  realizes  his  defeat  and 
has  just  plunged  his  sword  into  his  breast.  He  still  sup- 
ports the  woman  who  sinks  in  death  at  his  side.  The 
matted  hair  of  the  wife  and  the  dress  edged  with  fur  are 
sufficient  proof  of  her  race.  But  there  is  other  evidence 
that  The  Dying  Gaul  and  the  Gaul  killing  his  Wife  have 
a similar  origin.  Both  appear  together  in  an  inventory  of 
Cardinal  Ludovisi,  dated  1633.  Both  are  made  from  a 
marble  found  on  the  island  of  Furni  near  Samos.  It  is 
evident  that  the  two  sculptures  are  copies  of  Pergamene 
bronzes  which  stood  n the  open  square  surrounding  the 
temple  of  Athena  Polias  on  the  Acropolis  of  Pergamus. 

The  two  works  represent  a large  number  of  smaller 
originals  scattered  through  the  galleries  of  Europe.  They 
lead  us  at  once  to  inquire  into  the  historical  events  they 
clearly  incarnate. 


i68 


THE  DYING  GAUL 


The  story  of  the  foundation  of  Pergamus  is  full  of  inter- 
est. During  the  years  following  Alexander’s  death,  Lysim- 
achus  had  accumulated  a vast  treasure  in  the  impregnable 
Acropolis  of  Pergamus.  He  placed  his  lieutenant  Philetairus 
in  charge,  occupying  himself  with  schemes  of  conquest. 
But  Lysimachus  was  human  and  late  in  life  took  to  himself 
a young  wife.  To  humour  her  he  assented  to  the  murder 
of  a son  by  a former  marriage.  The  atrocity  finally  alienated 
Philetairus.  He  headed  a rebellion,  seized  the  treasure 
under  his  charge  and  founded  the  kingdom  of  Pergamus  in 
283  b.  c. 

The  dynasty  founded  in  this  dramatic  fashion  was 
destined  to  a stormy  history.  As  early  as  280  b.  c.  fresh 
danger  threatened  from  the  hordes  of  Gauls  who  began  to 
pour  across  the  passes  of  the  Balkans.  Some  of  these 
barbarians  marched  upon  Greece.  Others  crossed  the 
Bosphorus  at  Byzantium,  and  eventually  founded  the  Gallo- 
Greek  kingdom  of  Galatia  in  the  heart  of  Phrygia.  But  the 
King  of  Pergamus  felt  that  his  safety  depended  upon  check- 
ing the  victorious  career  of  the  Gauls.  Allying  himself 
with  the  ruling  Seleucus,  Attalus  I.  of  Pergamus  inflicted  a 
signal  defeat.  This  was  about  241  b.  c.  The  victory  was 
not  the  only  one  gained  by  the  kingdom  of  Pergamus. 
Early  in  the  Second  Century,  Eumenes  II.  ( 1 97—159  b.  c.) 
gained  fresh  laurels  for  his  countrymen. 

The  effect  of  these  brilliant  victories  upon  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  people  of  Pergamus  can  only  be  realized  by  com- 
paring it  with  that  of  Marathon  and  Salamis  upon  the  Fifth 


THE  DYING  GAUL 


169 


Century  Athenians.  All  around  them  the  Pergamenes  saw 
civilized  communities  acknowledging  defeat  at  the  hands  of 
the  Gauls.  As  the  Athenians  stemmed  the  tide  of  Persian 
invasion  at  Marathon,  so  the  Princes  of  Pergamus  saved  the 
Greeks  in  Asia  Minor  from  the  barbarian  Gauls,  who 
seemed  destined  to  sweep  away  the  newly  planted  Hellenic 
civilization.  The  victories  made  Pergamus  the  rival  of 
Alexandria  and  Antioch.  As  had  been  the  case  after 
Salamis,  a long  series  of  public  buildings  and  temples  were 
erected,  until  the  Acropolis  of  Pergamus  threatened  to  out- 
shine even  that  at  Athens.  Among  the  statues,  as  we  have 
said,  was  the  bronze  original  of  The  Dying  Gaul. 

It  was  the  second  defeat  of  the  Gauls,  at  the  hands  of 
Eumenes  II.,  which  led  to  the  building  of  the  great  altar  of 
Zeus  on  the  Acropolis  of  Pergamus.  It  is  worth  while  to 
reconstruct  a picture  of  the  huge  edifice  with  the  aid  of  our 
memory  of  the  sister  Acropolis  at  Athens.  The  altar 
stood  a little  below  the  Temple  of  Athena,  on  the  south- 
west terrace,  and  was  surmounted  by  an  Ionic  colonnade, 
which  enclosed  the  actual  place  of  sacrifice.  The  wor- 
shippers approached  by  a broad  staircase  cut  from  the  west 
side  of  the  great  pile.  Around  the  whole  structure  ran  the 
frieze  with  its  multitude  of  figures  in  the  highest  relief — the 
carvings,  of  course,  being  interrupted  by  the  staircase. 
The  whole  work  serves  to  carry  the  history  of  Pergamene 
sculpture  beyond  the  stage  when  such  a statue  as  The  Dying 
Gaul  was  produced. 


THE  LAOCOON 

(. Agesander , Poly  dor  us  and  Athenodorusy  about  125  B.  C.) 

JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON  GOETHE 

THE  group  of  Laocoon,  in  addition  to  its  other  ac- 
knowledged merits,  is  at  once  a model  of  symmetry 
and  variety,  of  repose  and  action,  of  contrast  and  grada- 
tion, which  produce  an  impression  partly  sensible,  partly 
spiritual,  agreeably  stimulate  the  imagination  by  the  high 
pathos  of  the  representation,  and  by  their  grace  and  beauty 
temper  the  storm  of  passion  and  suffering. 

Sculpture  is  justly  entitled  to  the  high  rank  it  holds  be- 
cause it  can  and  must  carry  expression  to  its  highest  point 
of  perfection,  from  the  fact  that  it  leaves  man  only  the 
absolutely  essential.  Thus,  in  the  present  group,  Laocoon 
is  a bare  name ; the  artists  have  stripped  him  of  his  priest- 
hood, his  Trojan  nationality,  of  every  poetical  or  mytho- 
logical attribute ; there  remains  nothing  of  all  that  fable 

1 According  to  Pliny  “ these  very  excellent  artists  of  Rhodes,  Agesander, 
Polydorus  and  Athenodorus,  made  de  consilii  sententia  of  one  stone,  Laoc- 
oon himself,  his  children,  and  the  wonderful  folds  of  the  serpents.”  He 
considered  it  “ preferable  to  all  other  works  of  pictorial  or  plastic  art,” 
and  described  it  as  standing  in  the  Palace  of  Titus. 

This  group  was  found  near  the  Baths  of  Titus  in  the  time  of  Pope 
Julius  II.  in  1506.  The  right  arm  of  Laocoon  is  a restoration  of  the 
Seventeenth  Century,  also  the  right  arm  of  his  younger  and  right  hand  of 
his  elder  son. 


THE  LAOCOON,  VATICAN 


THE  LAOCOON 


I7I 

had  clothed  him  with ; he  is  a father  with  his  two  sons,  in 
danger  of  destruction  from  two  fierce  animals.  In  like 
manner,  we  see  no  messenger  of  the  gods,  but  two  plain, 
natural  serpents,  powerful  enough  to  overcome  a man,  but, 
by  no  means,  either  in  form  or  treatment,  supernatural  and 
avenging  ministers  of  wrath.  They  glide  in,  as  it  is  their 
nature  to  do,  twine  around,  knot  together,  and  one,  being 
irritated,  bites.  If  I had  to  describe  this  work  without 
knowing  the  further  intent  of  it,  I should  say  it  were  a 
Tragic  Idyl.  A father  was  sleeping,  with  his  two  sons 
beside  him ; two  serpents  twined  about  them,  and  now, 
waking,  they  struggle  to  free  themselves  from  the  living 
net. 

The  expression  of  the  moment  is,  in  this  work,  of  the 
highest  importance.  When  it  is  intended  that  a work  of 
art  shall  move  before  the  eye,  a passing  moment  must,  of 
course,  be  chosen  ; but  a moment  ago,  not  a single  part  of 
the  whole  was  to  be  found  in  the  position  it  now  holds, 
and  in  another  instant  all  will  be  changed  again ; so  that  it 
presents  a fresh,  living  image  to  a million  beholders. 

In  order  to  conceive  rightly  the  intention  of  the  Laoc- 
oon,  let  a man  place  himself  before  it  at  a proper  distance, 
with  his  eyes  shut ; then  let  him  open  his  eyes,  and  shut 
them  again  instantly.  By  this  means,  he  will  see  the  whole 
marble  in  motion  ; he  will  fear  lest  he  find  the  whole  group 
changed  when  he  opens  his  eyes  again.  It  might  be  said 
that,  as  it  stands,  it  is  a flash  of  lightning  fixed,  a wave 
petrified  in  the  moment  it  rushes  towards  the  shore.  The 


172 


THE  LAOCOON 


same  effect  is  produced  by  the  contemplation  of  the  group 
by  torch-light. 

The  situations  of  the  three  figures  are  represented  with  a 
wise  gradation.  In  the  oldest  son,  only  the  extremities  are 
entangled ; the  second  is  encumbered  with  more  folds,  and 
especially  by  the  knot  around  his  breast ; he  endeavours  to 
get  breath  by  the  motion  of  his  right  arm;  with  the  left,  he 
gently  holds  back  the  serpent’s  head,  to  prevent  him  from 
taking  another  turn  around  his  breast.  The  serpent  is  in 
the  act  of  slipping  under  the  hand,  but  does  not  bite.  The 
father,  on  the  other  hand,  tries  to  set  himself  and  the  chil- 
dren free  by  force  ; he  grasps  the  other  serpent,  which, 
exasperated,  bites  him  in  the  hip. 

The  best  way  to  understand  the  position  of  the  father, 
both  in  the  whole  and  detail,  seems  to  me  to  be  to  take  the 
sudden  anguish  of  the  wound  as  the  moving  cause  of  the 
whole  action.  The  serpent  has  not  bitten,  but  is  just  now 
biting,  and  in  a sensitive  part,  above  and  just  behind  the 
hip.  The  serpent  inflicts  a wound  upon  the  unhappy  man, 
in  a part  where  we  are  excessively  sensitive  to  any  irrita- 
tion, where  even  a little  tickling  is  able  to  produce  the  action 
which  in  this  case  is  caused  by  the  wound.  The  figure  starts 
away  towards  the  opposite  side,  the  body  is  drawn  in,  the 
shoulder  forced  down,  the  breast  thrust  out,  the  head  sinks 
towards  the  wounded  side;  the  secondary  portion  of  the 
situation  or  treatment  appears  in  the  imprisoned  feet  and 
the  struggling  arms ; and  thus  from  the  contrast  of  struggle 
and  flight,  of  action  and  suffering,  of  energy  and  failing 


THE  LAOCOON 


*73 


strength,  results  an  harmonious  action  that  would  perhaps 
be  impossible  under  other  conditions.  We  are  lost  in 
astonishment  at  the  sagacity  of  the  artist ; if  we  try  to  place 
the  bite  in  some  different  position  the  whole  action  is 
changed,  and  we  find  it  impossible  to  conceive  one  more 
fitting.  It  is,  moreover,  important  to  remark,  that  as  the 
artist  exhibits  a sensible  effect,  he  also  gives  a sensible 
cause.  The  situation  of  the  bite  renders  necessary  the 
present  action  of  the  limbs.  The  movement  of  the  lower 
part  of  the  figure,  as  if  to  fly,  the  drawing  in  of  the  body, 
the  downward  action  of  the  shoulders  and  the  head,  the 
breast  forced  out,  nay,  the  expression  of  each  feature  of 
the  face,  all  are  determined  by  this  instant,  sharp,  unlooked 
for  irritation. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  destroy  the  unity  of  human  nature, 
to  deny  the  sympathetic  action  of  the  spiritual  powers  of 
this  nobly  complete  man,  to  misconceive  the  action  and 
suffering  of  a great  nature.  I see  also  anguish,  fear,  horror, 
a father’s  anxiety  pervading  those  veins,  swelling  that 
breast,  furrowing  that  brow.  I freely  admit  that  the 
highest  state  of  mental  as  well  as  bodily  anguish  is  here 
represented  ; only  let  us  not  transfer  the  effect  the  work 
produces  on  us  too  hastily  to  the  piece  itself ; and,  above 
all,  let  us  not  be  looking  for  the  effect  of  poison  in  a body 
which  the  serpent’s  fang  has  but  just  reached.  Let  us  not 
fancy  we  see  a death-struggle  in  a noble,  resisting,  un- 
injured, or  but  slightly  wounded  frame.  The  highest 
pathetic  expression  that  can  be  given  by  art  hovers  in  the 


174 


THE  LAOCOON 


transition  from  one  state  to  another.  If  during  the  transi- 
tion there  still  remain  evident  traces  of  a previous  state, 
the  result  is  the  noblest  subject  for  plastic  art,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Laocoon,  where  action  and  suffering  are 
shown  in  the  same  instant. 

The  choice  of  subject  is  one  of  the  happiest  that  can  be 
imagined.  Men  struggling  with  dangerous  animals,  and 
animals  that  do  not  act  as  a mass  or  concentrated  force, 
but  with  divided  powers  ; that  do  not  rush  in  at  one  side, 
nor  offer  a combined  resistance,  but  capable  by  their  pro- 
longed organization  of  paralyzing  three  men  without  in- 
juring them,  or  more  or  less.  From  the  action  of  this 
numbing  force,  results,  consistently  with  the  most  violent 
action,  a pervading  unity  and  repose  throughout  the  whole. 
The  different  action  of  the  serpents  is  exhibited  in  grada- 
tion. The  one  is  simply  twined  around  its  victims,  the 
other  becomes  irritated  and  bites  its  antagonist.  The  three 
figures  are  in  like  manner  most  wisely  selected — a strong 
well-developed  man,  but  evidently  past  the  age  of  greatest 
energy,  and  therefore  less  able  to  endure  pain  and  suffering. 
Substitute  in  his  place  a robust  young  man,  and  the  charm 
of  the  group  vanishes.  Joined  with  him  in  his  suffering 
are  two  boys,  small  in  proportion  to  his  figure,  but  still 
two  natures,  susceptible  of  pain. 

The  struggles  of  the  youngest  are  powerless ; he  is 
tortured,  but  uninjured.  The  father  struggles  powerfully, 
but  ineffectually  ; his  efforts  have  rather  the  effect  to 
exasperate  the  opposed  force.  His  opponent,  becoming 


THE  LAOCOON 


175 


irritated,  wounds  him.  The  eldest  son  is  least  encumbered. 
He  suffers  neither  pressure  nor  pain  ; he  is  terrified  by  the 
sudden  wounding  of  his  father,  and  his  movement  there- 
upon ; he  cries  out,  at  the  same  moment  endeavouring  to 
free  his  foot  from  the  serpent’s  fold  : here  then  is  spectator, 
witness,  and  accessory  to  the  fact ; and  thus  the  work  is 
completed. 

All  three  figures  exhibit  a twofold  treatment,  and  thus 
the  greatest  variety  of  interest  is  produced.  The  youngest 
son  strives  to  get  breath  by  raising  his  right  arm,  and  with 
his  left  hand  keeps  back  the  serpent’s  head  ; he  is  striving 
to  alleviate  the  present,  and  avert  the  impending  evil  : the 
highest  degree  of  action  he  can  attain  in  his  present  im- 
prisoned condition.  The  father  is  striving  to  shake  off  the 
serpent,  while  he  endeavours  instinctively  to  fly  from  the 
bite.  The  oldest  son  is  terrified  by  his  father’s  starting, 
and  seeks  at  the  same  time  to  free  himself  from  the  lightly- 
twined  serpent. 

Man  has  for  his  own  and  others’  sufferings,  only  three 
sorts  of  sensations, — apprehension,  terror,  and  compassion  ; 
the  anxious  foreseeing  of  an  approaching  evil,  the  unex- 
pected realization  of  present  pain,  and  sympathy  with 
existing  or  past  suffering  ; all  three  are  excited  by  and  ex- 
hibited in  the  present  work,  and  in  the  truest  gradation. 

Plastic  art,  labouring  always  for  a single  point  of  time, 
in  choosing  a pathetic  subject,  seizes  one  that  awakens 
terror;  while  on  the  other  hand,  Poetry  prefers  such  as 
excite  apprehension  and  compassion.  In  the  group  of 


176 


THE  LAOCOON 


Laocoon,  the  suffering  of  the  father  awakens  terror,  and 
that  in  the  highest  degree.  Sculpture  has  done  her  utmost 
for  him,  but,  partly  to  run  through  the  circle  of  human 
sensations,  partly  to  soften  the  effect  of  so  much  of  the 
terrible,  it  excites  pity  for  the  younger  son,  and  apprehen- 
sion for  the  elder,  through  the  hope  that  still  exists  for  him. 
Thus,  by  means  of  variety,  the  artists  have  introduced  a 
certain  balance  into  their  work,  have  softened  and  height- 
ened action  by  other  action,  and  completed  at  once  a 
spiritual  and  sensible  whole. 

In  a word,  we  dare  strongly  affirm  that  this  work  ex- 
hausts its  subject,  and  happily  fulfils  all  the  conditions  of 
art.  It  teaches  us  that  if  the  master  can  infuse  his  feeling 
of  beauty  into  reposing  and  simple  subjects,  the  same  can 
also  be  exhibited  in  the  highest  energy  and  worth,  when  it 
manifests  itself  in  the  creation  of  varied  character,  and 
knows  how,  by  artistic  imitation,  to  temper  and  control  the 
passionate  outbreak  of  human  feeling. 

Finally,  a word  concerning  this  subject  in  its  connection 
with  poetry. 

It  is  doing  Virgil  and  the  poetic  art  a great  injustice  to 
compare  even  for  a moment  this  completest  achievement  of 
Sculpture  with  the  episodical  treatment  of  the  subject  in  the 
AEneid.  As  soon  as  the  unhappy  wanderer,  iTneas,  has  to 
account  how  he  and  his  fellow  citizens  were  guilty  of  the 
unpardonable  folly  of  bringing  the  famous  horse  into  their 
city,  the  Poet  must  hit  upon  some  way  to  provide  a motive 
for  his  treatment.  This  is  the  origin  of  the  whole,  and  the 


THE  LAOCOON 


*77 


story  of  Laocoon  stands  here  as  a rhetorical  argument,  to 
justify  an  exaggeration  which  is  essential  to  the  design. 
Two  monstrous  serpents  are  brought  out  of  the  sea  with 
crested  heads ; they  rush  upon  the  children  of  the  priest 
who  had  injured  the  horse,  encircle  them,  bite  them,  slaver 
them,  twist  and  twine  about  the  breast  and  head  of  the 
father  as  he  hastens  to  their  assistance,  and  hold  up  their 
heads  high  in  triumph,  while  the  victims,  enclosed  in  their 
folds,  scream  in  vain  for  help.  The  people  are  horror- 
struck,  and  fly  at  once ; no  one  dares  to  be  a patriot  longer, 
and  the  hearer,  satiated  with  the  horror  of  the  strange  and 
dreadful  story,  is  willing  to  let  the  horse  be  brought  into  the 
city. 

Thus  in  Virgil,  the  story  of  Laocoon  serves  only  as  a 
step  to  a higher  aim,  and  it  is  a great  question  whether  the 
occurrence  be  in  itself  a poetic  subject. 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 

(. Apollonius  and  Tauriscus  of  Tralles , Second  Century  B.  C.) 

WALTER  COPLAND  PERRY 

OF  the  same  Rhodian  school  as  the  sculptors  of  the 
Laocoon  group  are  the  artists,  probably  brothers, 
Apollonius  and  Tauriscus  of  Tralles,  in  Caria  (southeast 
of  Ephesus),  which  in  the  middle  of  the  Second  Century 
b.  c.  was  incorporated  into  his  kingdom  by  Attalus  II.  of 
Pergamon,  and  may  have  been  the  channel  through  which 
Rhodian  art  found  its  way  into  Mysia.  These  artists  were 
sons  of  Artemidorus,  and  adopted  sons  of  Menecrates,  who 
was,  perhaps,  their  teacher.  Their  great  work,  which 
represented  u Zethus,  Amphion  and  Dirce,  also  the  Bull  and 
the  rope  of  the  same  stone  ” was  brought  from  Rhodes  (to 
which  great  centre  the  artists  had  probably  sent  it)  to  Rome, 
where  it  was  in  the  possession  of  Asinius  Polio.  A magnif- 
icent group,  probably  the  original  work  mentioned  by 
Pliny,  was  found  in  the  Baths  of  Caracalla  in  1546,  and 
was  transferred  from  the  Palazzo  Farnese  in  Rome  to 
Naples  in  1786,  where  it  forms  one  of  the  principal  orna- 
ments of  the  Museo  Nazionale  under  the  name  of  the 
Farnesian  Bull  (Toro  Farnese).  This  famous  work  was 
discovered  in  a very  mutilated  condition,  and  seems  to  have 
been  restored  in  the  time  of  Caracalla.  In  the  Sixteenth 
Century,  it  was  again  restored  by  Guglielmo  della  Porta, 


THE  FARNESE  BULL,  NAPLES  MUSEUM 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 


179 


who  appears  to  have  taken  the  bust  of  Caracalla  as  a model 
for  the  new  head  of  Zethus.  Did  we  not  know  that  the 
upper  part  of  Dirce’s  figure  and  her  arms  were  restorations, 
we  should  wonder  at  her  isolated  position,  since  her  only 
material  connection  with  the  other  figures  is  formed  by  her 
left  hand,  with  which  she  clasps  the  leg  of  Amphion.  The 
proper  situation  is  probably  indicated  by  the  onyx  cameo  at 
Naples,  in  which  Zethus  is  represented  dragging  her 
towards  himself  by  the  hair  while  she  seizes  the  knee  of 
Amphion  with  one  hand  and  holds  up  the  other  in  piteous 
deprecation.  In  the  cameo  the  rope  is  already  round  the 
body  of  Dirce  and  the  horns  of  the  bull,  and  nothing  re- 
mains but  to  tear  her  away  from  Amphion  and  let  loose  the 
furious  monster,  which  the  two  powerful  youths  can 
scarcely  hold.  As  far  as  we  know,  the  myth  of  Dirce’s 
fate  was  not  treated  in  any  epic  poem  ; and  no  other  plastic 
representation  of  it  has  been  found  except  this  group  and  a 
relief  (sculptured  pillar)  in  a temple  at  Cyzicus  founded  by 
Attalus  II.  in  memory  of  his  mother  Apollonis.  Which  of 
these  works  is  the  older  we  have  no  means  of  deciding,  but 
they  are  both  founded  on  the  legend  in  the  shape  given  to 
it  by  Euripides  in  his  tragedy  u Antiope  ” — of  which  some 
fragments  have  been  preserved.  Antiope,  daughter  of 
Nycteus,  King  of  Thebes,  having  become  a mother  by  that 
universal  parent  Zeus,  fled  from  the  wrath  of  her  father  to 
Eleutherae,  on  Mount  Cithaeron,  where  she  brought  forth 
Zethus  and  Amphion.  The  sons  of  Zeus  were  committed 
to  the  care  of  shepherds  of  the  neighbouring  mountain 


i8o 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 


while  the  mother  went  to  Sicyon  and  lived  under  the 
protection  of  King  Epopeus.  Meanwhile  Lycus  had  suc- 
ceeded his  brother  Nycteus  at  Thebes,  and  taken  on  him- 
self the  task  of  punishing  Antiope  for  her  frailty.  He 
makes  war  on  Epopeus,  destroys  Sicyon,  and  gives  Antiope 
as  a slave  to  his  wife  Dirce.  Unable  to  endure  the 
cruelties  inflicted  on  her  by  her  jealous  mistress,  Antiope 
once  more  flies  to  Mount  Cithaeron,  and  begs  the  protec- 
tion of  her  as  yet  unrecognized  sons  Zethus  and  Amphion. 
The  fugitive  is,  however,  soon  discovered  by  Dirce,  a 
devoted  worshipper  of  Bacchus,  whom  the  celebration  of  a 
Bacchic  festival  brings  to  the  wilds  of  Cithaeron,  and 
Antiope  is  condemned  by  the  implacable  queen  to  be  bound 
to  a wild  bull.  The  supposed  shepherds,  Zethus  and 
Amphion,  are  ordered  to  carry  the  sentence  into  execution, 
and  are  on  the  point  of  unconsciously  committing  matricide 
when  the  mystery  of  their  birth  is  revealed  to  them  by  the 
shepherds  who  had  reared  them.  Dirce  is  then  substituted 
by  the  infuriated  sons  for  Antiope,  and  after  suffering  hor- 
rible tortures,  is  changed  by  Dionysus  into  a fountain. 

The  subject  has  in  some  respects  a close  analogy  with 
that  of  the  Laocoon,  inasmuch  as  in  both  the  horrible  and 
pathetic  are  carried  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  are  entirely 
divorced  from  any  moral  significance.  In  both,  too,  the 
execution  of  the  dread  purpose  is  left  to  blind  brute  agents 
from  whom  no  mercy  can  be  looked  for. 

In  one  respect,  however,  the  Farnesian  Bull  is  more  in 
accordance  with  the  Greek  spirit  than  the  Laocoon,  in  that 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 


181 


it  represents  the  moment  before  the  catastrophe,  and  does 
not  harrow  us  with  the  sight  of  Dirce’s  crushed  and  tortured 
frame.  Yet  we  are  brought  so  near  to  the  terrible  denoue- 
ment that  imagination  presents  to  us  in  a glaring  light  the 
horrors  which  the  next  moment  will  bring  forth.  There  is 
something  revolting  in  the  idea  that  two  strong  men  and  an 
impetuous  bull  unite  their  utmost  efforts  to  destroy  a help- 
less supplicating  woman  j and  no  remembrance  of  her  in- 
tended crime  can  altogether  reconcile  us  to  her  fate. 

Unlike  the  Laocoon,  which  can  only  be  seen  to  advan- 
tage from  one  point,  the  Farnesian  Bull  was  intended  for  a 
central  position,  in  which  it  could  be  looked  at  from  all 
sides.  The  principal  action  is  best  seen  from  a point  op- 
posite to  Dirce,  but  the  figures  are  so  arranged  that  each 
side  presents  a complete  picture.  Besides  the  three  principal 
actors,  we  see  a motionless  female  form  which  stands  isola- 
ted behind  Dirce  and  Amphion,  and  in  which  we  immedi- 
ately recognize  Antiope.  Her  head  is  restored,  so  that  we 
are  left  to  guess  what  her  feelings  were  on  seeing  her  enemy 
undergo  the  punishment  destined  for  herself,  and  may  hope 
that  it  is  pity,  though  ct  Revenge  is  sweet,  especially  to 
women.”  At  her  right  hand  is  a boy  with  a syrinx  and  a 
garland  on  his  head,  seated  or  rather  fixed  to  the  ground,  in 
his  character  of  mountain  god  ; and  near  him  is  a dog,  of 
which  all  but  the  paws  is  restored. 

One  of  the  chief  peculiarities  of  the  group,  in  which  it 
differs  very  widely  from  the  Laocoon,  is  the  abundance  of 
pictorial  detail  designed  to  mark  the  occasion  and  the  local- 


182 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 


ity  of  the  action.  The  rocky  ground  represents  the  heights 
of  Mount  Cithaeron,  and  the  presence  of  various  wild  ani- 
mals indicates,  in  a manner  hitherto  unknown  to  sculpture, 
the  remoteness  and  wildness  of  the  scene.  We  are  re- 
minded of  a religious  festival  which  attracted  Dirce  to  the 
spot  by  the  woven  cista,  or  basket,  from  which  the  Dionys- 
iac  Snake  has  crept  forth,  and  the  broken  Thyrsus,  the 
Ivy,  and  the  Hide  of  some  feline  animal,  which  Dirce  has 
just  thrown  off. 

Some  writers,  and  especially  Ottfried  Miller,  have  en- 
deavoured to  import  a more  tender  element  into  the  dread- 
ful scene  by  crediting  Amphion  with  a sentiment  of  pity 
for  his  victim.  Dirce,  they  say,  appeals  to  him  alone,  as 
the  less  cruel  of  the  two,  and  his  attribute,  the  lyre,  by  his 
side  is  supposed  to  indicate  the  gentler  feelings  of  the  poet 
and  minstrel.  It  is  the  harsher  Zethus,  they  point  out, 
who  drags  the  unhappy  queen  by  the  hair,  and  is  about  to 
bind  her  to  the  bull.  Amphion  is,  as  it  were,  the  half-re- 
luctant co-operator,  carried  away  by  the  implacable  fury  of 
his  sterner  brother.  This  idea  of  the  difference  of  charac- 
ter between  the  twin  brothers  is  familiar  to  literature,  and 
the  well-known  lines  of  Horace  illustrate  very  aptly  O. 
Miller’s  interpretation  of  the  Farnesian  Bull. 

The  generality  of  observers  will  hardly  rise  to  the  point 
of  view  from  which  these  subtle  distinctions  are  perceptible, 
and  will  see  in  Amphion  only  a powerful  young  hero  with 
difficulty  controlling  the  impetuous  efforts  of  a furious  bull 
to  free  itself  from  his  grasp. 


THE  FARNESE  BULL  I 83 

If  we  would  do  justice  to  this  striking  production  of  the 
Rhodian  school  we  must  take  into  account  the  period  to 
which  it  belongs.  We  must  acknowledge  that  the  subject 
is  destitute  of  all  ethical  meaning ; that  it  is  chosen  as  best 
calculated  to  goad  the  imagination  into  a waking  dream  of 
horror;  that  with  the  sole  effect  of  giving  full  expression 
to  his  ideas,  the  artist  has  employed  all  the  means  within 
his  reach,  whether  suitable  or  unsuitable  to  the  nature  of 
his  art ; that,  in  fine,  he  has  grievously  “ o’erstepped  the 
modesty  ” of  sculpture.  Yet  if,  forgetting  for  a moment 
the  lessons  we  have  learned  in  the  school  of  Phidias,  we 
take  it  for  what  it  is,  the  product  of  the  same  period  as  the 
sometimes  grand,  impetuous,  and  glowing,  but  often  turgid, 
tawdry,  and  bombastic  grandiloquence  of  Rhodian  Oratory, 
it  is  impossible  to  deny  it  our  meed  of  admiration.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  mention  any  work  of  plastic  art  which 
tells  its  own  story  so  completely  as  this ; and  the  skill  with 
which  all  the  persons  and  incidents  of  the  terrible  drama 
are  brought  into  the  focus  of  one  pregnant  moment  is 
worthy  of  great  praise.  The  form  and  attitude  of  the  pow- 
erful youths  are  grand  and  imposing,  and  stand  out  in  very 
effective  contrast  to  the  wild  plunging  of  the  maddened 
bull,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  blooming  luxurious  beauty 
of  the  queenly  Dirce,  on  the  other.  The  whole  concep- 
tion and  character  of  the  work  smacks  of  a Bacchic  frenzy, 
which  suits  well  with  the  myth  from  which  it  springs,  and 
the  spirit  and  colour  of  Rhodian  art. 

It  must  always  remain  doubtful  whether  the  “ Toro  Far- 


184 


THE  FARNESE  BULL 


nese”  is  the  very  work  of  the  Trallesian  artists,  as  we  are 
inclined  to  think  that  it  is.  The  composition  is  wonderfully 
good,  considering  the  extraordinary  complication  and  diffi- 
culty of  the  subject,  and  the  circumstance  that  the  group 
was  intended  to  be  seen  from  all  sides.  The  chief  fault  in 
it  is  that  the  upper  part  of  the  group  is  rather  overloaded, 
thus  giving  it  the  air  of  being  somewhat  top-heavy. 

We  find  the  motif  of  the  Farnesian  Bull  on  a bronze 
coin  of  Thyateira  in  Lydia,  struck  in  the  reign  of  Alexan- 
der Severus,  and  on  a gem,  as  well  as  on  the  Neapolitan 
cameo  noticed  above. 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 

{Alexandras  of  Antiocheia , First  Century  B.  C.) 

WALTER  COPLAND  PERRY 

VENUS  OF  MELOS  is  probably  the  work  of  Alex- 
andras, son  of  Menides  of  Antiocheia. 

It  is  with  no  little  reluctance  that  we  place  this  noblest 
conception  of  the  female  form  among  the  works  of  this  late 
period.  But  the  evidence,  both  external  and  internal,  con- 
strains us  to  refer  it  to  that  age  of  genial  eclecticism  and  imi- 
tation to  which  we  owe  such  marvels  of  art  as  the  Belvedere 
Torso  and  the  Borghese  Warrior.  We  must  regard  this 
grandest  and  noblest  representation  of  the  mighty  Goddess 
with  the  same  feelings  as  are  inspired  by  the  rare  golden 
days  of  autumn,  which  rival  in  beauty  and  surpass  in  charm 
and  interest  the  uniform  brightness  of  the  height  of  summer. 

The  Venus  of  Melos  was  discovered  in  1820  by  a peasant 
in  a niche  of  the  buried  walls  of  the  old  town  of  Melos  in 
the  island  of  the  same  name.  It  was  purchased  by  the 
French  Ambassador  at  Constantinople,  the  Marquis  de  Riv- 
iere and  presented  by  him  to  Louis  XVIII. , who  placed 
it  in  the  Louvre.  It  is  composed  of  two  blocks  of  marble, 
which  unite  just  above  the  garment  which  envelops  her 
legs.1  Of  the  arms,  which  are  both  unfortunately  lost,  the 


1 Statues  (not  colossal)  are  seldom  composed  of  more  than  one  block. 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


1 86 

left  was  made  separately  and  fixed  to  the  body.  The  tip 
of  the  nose  has  been  added  in  modern  times  ; and  at  an 
earlier  period  that  part  of  the  left  foot  which  projects  from 
the  drapery  was  restored,  but  so  badly  that  it  was  removed 
again.  The  ears  are  pierced  for  rings. 

Two  years  later  (1822)  part  of  a left  arm  and  a left  hand 
grasping  an  apple  were  discovered  which  many  persons  still 
consider  to  belong  to  the  statue.  They  certainly  look  like 
the  results  of  a clumsy  attempt  to  restore  the  missing  parts. 

M.  de  Longperier,  in  a letter  to  Friederichs,  declares  that 
the  plinth  inscribed  with  the  name  of  Alexandros  was  found 
at  the  same  time  as  the  statue  and  brought  to  Paris  and  there 
purposely  destroyed  : M On  avait  dit  au  Roi  Louis  XVIII. 
que  la  statue  etait  V oeuvre  du  celebre  sculpteur  de  Phryn'e 
(Praxiteles),  et  je  crois  que  ce  fut  la  cause  de  la  perte  de 
r inscription .” 

The  attitude  of  the  Goddess  is  a very  peculiar  one,  not 
easy  to  be  accounted  for.  She  stands  proudly  erect,  in- 
clining from  the  waist  upwards  to  the  right,  but  facing 
slightly  round  to  the  left.  She  rests  the  whole  weight  of 
her  stately  form  on  the  right  leg  while  the  left  foot,  which 
is  lost,  was  raised  and  rested  on  some  object — a helmet  or 
tortoise.  Her  pose  affords  an  example  of  that  pleasing  un- 
dulation of  the  human  form,  which,  according  to  Winckel- 
mann,  was  first  introduced  by  Lysippus.  The  beautiful 
rhythm,  however,  is  obscured  by  the  loss  of  the  fine  arms 
which  must  have  belonged  to  so  majestic  and  superb  a 
figure.  The  lower  limbs  of  the  statue,  which  is  nude  to 


VENUS  OF  MILO,  LOUVRE 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


187 


the  hips,  are  draped  rather  than  clothed  in  a mantle,  which 
is  arranged  solely  with  a view  to  artistic  effect.  The  too 
small  head  is  supported  by  a too  long  neck,  and  the  oval 
of  the  haughty  face  is  shorter  than  in  most  of  the  statues  of 
the  preceding  period.  The  upper  eyelid  extends  farther 
than  usual  beyond  the  lower,  which  is  slightly  raised  in  the 
manner  characteristic  of  Aphrodite.  It  is  this  formation 
which  makes  the  eye  itself  look  longer  than  it  really  is,  and 
imparts  somewhat  of  the  winning,  languishing  expression, 
which  assures  us  that,  after  all,  this  stern,  disdainful  woman 
is  the  Goddess  of  Love.  The  ears  are  partly  covered  by 
the  hair,  which  is  simply  and  elegantly  tied  into  a knot  at 
the  back  of  the  head,  like  that  of  the  Medicean  Venus. 
The  nude  forms  are  moulded  with  admirable  power  on  the 
grandest  scale,  with  a clearness  and  purity  of  outline  worthy 
of  the  best  period  of  Grecian  art.  The  figure  is  ideal  in 
the  highest  sense  of  the  word ; it  is  a form  which  tran- 
scends all  our  experience,  which  has  no  prototype  or  equal 
in  the  actual  world,  and  beyond  which  no  effort  of  the  im- 
agination can  rise.  As  we  contemplate  with  something 
like  awe  this  beau-ideal  of  proud,  majestic  womanhood,  our 
thoughts  naturally  recur  to  the  very  different  form  under 
which  the  Goddess  is  represented  to  us  in  the  Florentine 
statue.  In  the  latter  we  see  the  tender,  delicate  form  of  a 
young  girl  in  the  first  flush  of  youth,  who  feels  the  in- 
fluence of  the  love  which  she  inspires,  and  whose  charming 
face  expresses  at  once  her  bashful  timidity  and  half-con- 
scious coquetry.  The  former,  whose  grand  form  is  that  of 


i88 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


a fully  developed  woman,  stands  before  us  in  quiet  majesty 
— proud,  cold  and  self-sufficing ; lovable,  indeed,  but  seek- 
ing no  love  from  us  ( nihil  indiga  nostri).  It  is  no  longer 
the  ideal  of  a lovely  woman,  it  is  the  Goddess  who  does  not 
condescend  to  ask  or  try  to  win  our  homage,  but  demands 
it  by  her  mere  presence  as  of  right  divine. 

The  peculiarity  of  the  attitude  of  the  Venus  de  Melos 
and  the  loss  of  her  arms,  which  might  explain  it,  have 
given  rise  to  countless  theories  respecting  the  action  in 
which  she  is  engaged.  Everything  about  her,  except  her 
lustrous  beauty,  even  the  material  from  which  she  is  carved, 
is  a matter  of  dispute.  If  the  hand  with  the  apple  were 
genuine,  we  should  have  the  Cyprian  queen  in  the  act  of 
holding  up  the  prize.  According  to  another  interpretation, 
she  is  contemplating  her  own  victorious  charms  in  the 
polished  surface  of  Mars's  shield.  If  she  was  satisfied  with 
the  reflection,  her  pleasure  is  very  ill  expressed,  and  the 
direction  of  her  gaze  is  far  too  high.  It  is  inconceivable, 
too,  that  the  artist  would  choose  to  conceal  the  greater 
portion  of  her  glorious  form  by  the  interposition  of  a large 
shield.  The  most  extraordinary  explanation  is  that  broached 
by  M.  Geskel  Salomons,  who  thinks  that  the  Venus  of 
Melos  once  adorned  a gymnasium,  and  stood  on  one  side  of 
Heracles  as  Pleasure,  as  a pendant  to  Virtue  on  the  other, 
in  a group  representing  the  famous  Choice  of  Heracles  ! 

If  we  choose  to  regard  her  as  a single  and  independent 
figure,  the  most  plausible  explanation  of  her  attitude  is  sug- 
gested by  the  beautiful  statue  called  the  Victory  of  Brescia , 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


189 


which  is  really  a Venus  restored  as  a Nike  with  wings  and 
buckler,  probably  in  the  time  of  Vespasian,  who  founded  the 
temple  where  it  was  discovered.  She  is  there  represented  as 
holding  a buckler  in  her  left  hand,  on  which  she  is  inscribing 
the  names  of  fallen  heroes.  The  Aphrodite  of  Melos  may 
also  be  compared  with  the  Venus  Falerone  (from  Valeria  in 
Picenum),  to  which  it  bears  a very  striking  resemblance, 
except  that  the  latter  is  clothed,  while  the  former  is  nude. 

The  difficulty  of  explaining  her  attitude  satisfactorily  as  a 
single  figure  appears  to  most  observers  insuperable.  De 
Quincey  was  the  first  to  suggest  that  she  formed  part  of  a 
group  with  Ares,  whose  anger  she  is  endeavouring  to  ap- 
pease by  her  caresses ; and  he  refers  to  a medal  of  Faustina 
the  younger  in  support  of  this  view.  The  expression  of  her 
face  gives  no  countenance  to  this  hypothesis.  Millingen 
also  thinks  that  she  is  standing  by  the  side  of  Mars,  but  he 
regards  the  pair  in  the  more  serious  light  of  a couple  conjugal . 
This  is,  perhaps,  the  best  explanation  which  has  as  yet  been 
brought  forward.  M.  Ravaisson,  of  the  Louvre,  agrees 
with  him  to  a considerable  extent,  and  has  greatly  facilitated 
the  formation  of  a sound  opinion  by  placing  several  similar 
figures  in  the  room  adjoining  that  which  the  Venus  de 
Melos  occupies  alone  as  becomes  her  rank. 

The  u group  theory  ” derives  confirmation  from  the  well- 
known  statue  of  Hadrian  and  Sabina  in  the  Louvre,  in 
which  the  latter  is  evidently  copied  from  the  Melian 
Aphrodite  and  Hadrian  from  Mars  Borghese  in  the  same 
museum.  The  action  of  Venus-Sabina,  who  lays  her  hand 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


190 

on  the  breast  of  Mars-Hadrian,  would  very  well  suit  the 
position  of  our  statue.  Similar  groups  may  be  seen  in  the 
Capitoline  Museum  at  Rome  and  at  Florence,  and  the 
motif  was  evidently  a favourite  one.  This  view  of  the  case, 
which  seems  the  best,  does  not  necessitate  a love  scene,  in 
which  the  Goddess  is  evidently  not  in  a mood  to  take  a 
part.  She  is  grave  and  stately,  as  becomes  her  character  as 
an  object  of  worship  in  a temple,  and  as  consort  of  the 
powerful  God  of  War. 

The  Venus  de  Milo  is  justly  admired,  not  only  for  the 
grandeur  of  its  design,  the  perfection  of  its  proportion,  and 
the  exquisite  moulding  of  the  superb  and  luxuriant  form, 
but  for  the  vivid  freshness  of  the  flesh  and  the  velvet  soft- 
ness of  the  skin,  in  which  it  stands  unrivalled  in  ancient  and 
modern  art.  The  extraordinary  skill  with  which  minute 
details,  such  as  the  folds  of  skin  in  the  neck,  are  harmonized 
with  the  ideal  beauty  of  the  whole  is  beyond  all  imitation 
and  all  praise.  The  lifelike  effect  of  this  wonderful  master- 
piece is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  rare  and  perfect  preserva- 
tion of  the  epidermis  and  by  the  beautiful  warm  yellowish 
tinge  which  the  lapse  of  centuries  has  given  to  the  marble. 

In  the  drapery  it  is  rather  the  execution,  which  is  very 
meritorious,  than  the  design,  which  we  admire.  It  is  not 
in  accordance  with  the  practice  of  the  best  period  to  use  the 
dress  as  a mere  ornament  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  nude. 
This  is  too  evidently  done  in  the  case  before  us ; for  the 
drapery — which  is  gracefully  arranged  round  the  lower 
limbs,  and  out  of  which  the  beautiful  nude  form  rises  like  a 


THE  VENUS  OF  MILO 


i9r 

flower  from  its  calix — could  not  possibly  remain  where  it  is 
for  a single  moment.  Such  a want  of  truth,  such  an 
artifice  de  toilette , is  a strong  argument  against  the  claim  of 
this  statue  to  belong  to  the  age  of  Phidias,  or  even  Scopas. 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 1 

( Cleomenes , First  or  Second  Century , A . D.) 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

I WENT  this  morning  to  the  Uffizi  gallery.  I chiefly 
paid  attention  to  the  sculpture.  There  were  many 
beautiful  specimens  of  antique,  ideal  sculpture  all  along  the 
gallery, — Apollos,  Bacchuses,  Venuses,  Mercurys,  Fauns, 
— with  the  general  character  of  all  of  which  I was  familiar 
enough  to  recognize  them  at  a glance.  The  mystery  and 
wonder  of  the  gallery,  however,  the  Venus  de’  Medici,  I 
could  nowhere  see,  and  indeed  was  almost  afraid  to  see  it ; 
for  I somewhat  apprehended  the  extinction  of  another  of 
those  lights  that  shine  along  a man’s  pathway,  and  go  out 
in  a snuff  the  instant  he  comes  within  eyeshot  of  the  fulfill- 
ment of  his  hopes.  As  I passed  from  one  room  to  another 
my  breath  rose  and  fell  a little,  with  the  half-hope,  half- 

1 The  Venus  de’  Medici,  by  Cleomenes,  son  of  Apollodorus,  a Greek 
artist  living  in  Rome  in  the  First  or  Second  Century  of  the  Christian  Era. 
This  universally  celebrated  statue  was  found  in  eleven  fragments  in  the 
Portico  of  Octavia  at  Rome,  for  the  adornment  of  which  it  was  in  all 
probability  originally  executed.  The  whole  of  the  right  and  left  arms 
from  the  elbow  downwards  are  restored.  Traces  of  gilding  were  visible  on 
her  hair  on  its  first  discovery ; her  ears  are  pierced  for  rings,  and  she  wears 
an  armlet  on  her  left  arm.  A comparison  of  the  Venus  de’  Medici  with  the 
extant  copies  of  the  Cnidian  Aphrodite  leaves  no  room  for  doubt  that 
Cleomenes  drew  his  inspiration  from  that  lovely  darling  of  the  Grecian 
world.  Whether  this  Medici  Venus  was  discovered  in  the  gardens  of 
Nero  on  the  Tiber,  or  in  the  Portico  of  Octavia,  as  was  long  supposed,  is 


VENUS  DE’  MEDICI,  UFFIZI  GALLERY 

By  Cleomenes 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


*93 


fear,  that  she  might  stand  before  me.  Really,  I did  not 
know  that  I cared  so  much  about  Venus,  or  any  possible 
woman  of  marble.  At  last,  I caught  a glimpse  of  her 
through  the  door  of  the  next  room.  It  is  the  best  room  of 
the  series,  octagonal  in  shape  and  hung  with  red  damask, 
and  the  light  comes  down  from  a row  of  windows,  passing 
quite  round,  beneath  an  octagonal  dome.  The  Venus 
stands  somewhat  aside  from  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  is 
surrounded  by  an  iron  railing,  a pace  or  two  from  her 
pedestal  in  front,  and  less  behind.  I think  she  might  safely 
be  left  to  the  reverence  her  womanhood  would  win,  with- 
out any  other  protection.  She  is  very  beautiful,  very  satis- 
factory ; and  has  a fresh  and  new  charm  about  her  un- 
reached by  any  cast  or  copy.  The  hue  of  the  marble  is 
just  so  much  mellowed  by  time  as  to  do  all  for  her  that 
Gibson  tries  or  ought  to  try  to  do  for  his  statues  by  colour, 
softening  her,  warming  her  almost  imperceptibly,  making 
her  an  inmate  of  the  heart,  as  well  as  a spiritual  existence. 
I felt  a kind  of  tenderness  for  her,  an  affection,  not  as  if  she 

uncertain;  but  its  inscription  stating  it  to  be  by  Cleomenes,  son  of 
Apollonios,  is  proved  by  Michaelis  to  be  a falsification  of  the  Seventeenth 
Century,  A.  d.  On  the  removal  of  the  statue  to  Florence,  it  was  seriously 
broken  ; and  its  restoration  was  undertaken,  after  1677,  by  Ercole  Ferrata, 
to  whom  are  due  the  lean  fingers,  so  out  of  keeping  with  the  dainty  and 
soft  feet.  Venus  here,  in  variation  from  the  original  by  Praxiteles,  is  not 
represented  as  engaged  with  the  bath,  all  intimations  of  which  are  want- 
ing ; but  we  simply  see  a nude  female  looking  out  into  the  world,  and 
covering  herself  with  both  hands.  Associated  with  her  is  a dolphin  refer- 
ring perhaps  to  her  connection  with  the  sea.  The  dolphin  is  ridden  by  a 
child,  who  serves  to  support  her,  and  may  be  Venus’s  son  Cupid. — 
Z.  M.  Mitchell. 


i94 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


were  one  woman,  but  all  womanhood  in  one.  Her  modest 
attitude,  which,  before  I saw  her  I had  not  liked,  deeming 
that  it  might  be  an  artificial  shame,  is  partly  what  unmakes 
her  as  the  heathen  goddess,  and  softens  her  into  a woman. 
There  is  a slight  degree  of  alarm,  too,  in  her  face;  not  that 
she  really  thinks  anybody  is  looking  at  her,  yet  the  idea 
has  flitted  through  her  mind,  and  startled  her  a little.  Her 
face  is  so  beautiful  and  intellectual,  that  it  is  not  dazzled 
out  of  sight  by  her  form.  Methinks  this  was  a triumph  for 
the  sculptor  to  achieve.  I may  as  well  stop  here.  It  is  of 
no  use  to  throw  heaps  of  words  upon  her;  for  they  all  fall 
away,  and  leave  her  standing  in  chaste  and  naked  grace,  as 
untouched  as  when  I began. 

She  has  suffered  terribly  by  the  mishaps  of  her  long  ex- 
istence in  the  marble.  Each  of  her  legs  has  been  broken 
into  two  or  three  fragments,  her  arms  have  been  severed, 
her  body  has  been  broken  quite  across  at  the  waist,  her 
head  has  been  snapped  off  at  the  neck.  Furthermore,  there 
have  been  grievous  wounds  and  losses  of  substance  in 
various  tender  parts  of  her  person.  But  on  account  of  the 
skill  with  which  the  statue  has  been  restored,  and  also  be- 
cause the  idea  is  perfect  and  indestructible,  all  these  injuries 
do  not  in  the  least  impair  the  effect,  even  when  you  see 
where  the  dissevered  fragments  have  been  re-united.  She  is 
just  as  whole  as  when  she  left  the  hands  of  the  sculptor. 
I am  glad  to  have  seen  this  Venus  and  to  have  found  her  so 
tender  and  so  chaste. 

I paid  another  visit  to  the  Uffizi  gallery  this  morning, 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


195 


and  found  that  the  Venus  is  one  of  the  things  the  charm  of 
which  does  not  diminish  on  better  acquaintance.  The 
world  has  not  grown  weary  of  her  in  all  these  ages  ; and 
mortal  man  may  look  on  her  with  new  delight  from  in- 
fancy to  old  age,  and  keep  the  memory  of  her,  I should 
imagine,  as  one  of  the  treasures  of  spiritual  existence  here- 
after. Surely,  it  makes  me  more  ready  to  believe  in  the 
high  destiny  of  the  human  race,  to  think  that  this  beautiful 
form  is  but  nature’s  plan  for  all  womankind,  and  that  the 
nearer  the  actual  woman  approaches  it,  the  more  natural 
she  is.  I do  not,  and  cannot  think  of  her  as  a senseless 
image,  but  as  a being  that  lives  to  gladden  the  world,  in- 
capable of  decay  and  death  ; as  young  and  fair  to-day  as 
she  was  three  thousand  years  ago,  and  still  to  be  young  and 
fair  as  long  as  a beautiful  thought  shall  require  beautiful 
embodiment.  I wonder  how  any  sculptor  has  had  the 
impertinence  to  aim  at  any  other  presentation  of  female 
beauty.  I mean  no  disrespect  to  Gibson  or  Powers,  or  a 
hundred  other  men  who  people  the  world  with  nudities,  all 
of  which  are  abortions  as  compared  with  her ; but  I think 
the  world  would  be  all  the  richer  if  their  Venuses,  their 
Greek  Slaves,  their  Eves  were  burnt  into  quicklime,  leaving 
us  only  this  statue  as  our  image  of  the  beautiful.  I ob- 
served to-day  that  the  eyes  of  the  statue  are  slightly  hollowed 
out,  in  a peculiar  way, so  as  to  give  them  a look  of  depth  and 
intelligence.  She  is  a miracle.  The  sculptor  must  have 
wrought  religiously,  and  have  felt  that  something  far  beyond 
his  own  skill  was  working  through  his  hands. 


196 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


We  called  at  the  Powers’s  yesterday.  He  was  very 
cordial  and  pleasant,  as  I have  always  found  him,  and 
began  immediately  to  be  communicative  about  his  own 
works,  or  any  other  subject  that  came  up.  There  were 
two  casts  of  the  Venus  de’  Medici  in  the  rooms,  which  he 
said  were  valuable  in  a commercial  point  of  view,  being 
genuine  casts  from  the  mould  taken  from  the  statue.  He 
then  gave  us  a quite  unexpected  but  most  interesting  lecture 
on  the  Venus,  demonstrating  it,  as  he  proceeded,  by  refer- 
ence to  the  points  which  he  criticised.  The  figure,  he 
seemed  to  allow,  was  admirable,  though  I think  he  hardly 
classes  it  so  high  as  his  own  Greek  Slave  or  Eva ; but  the 
face,  he  began  with  saying,  was  that  of  an  idiot.  Then, 
leaning  on  the  pedestal  of  the  cast,  he  continued  : “ It  is 
rather  a bold  thing  to  say,  isn’t  it,  that  the  sculptor  of  the 
Venus  de’  Medici  did  not  know  what  he  was  about  ? ” 
Truly  it  appeared  to  me  so;  but  Powers  went  on  re- 
morselessly, and  showed,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  eye  was 
not  like  any  eye  that  Nature  ever  made ; and,  indeed,  being 
examined  closely,  and  abstracted  from  the  rest  of  the  face, 
it  has  a very  queer  look, — less  like  a human  eye  than  a half- 
worn  buttonhole  ! Then  he  attacked  the  ear,  which,  he 
affirmed  and  demonstrated,  was  placed  a great  deal  too  low 
on  the  head,  thereby  giving  an  artificial  and  monstrous 
height  to  the  portion  of  the  head  above  it.  The  forehead 
met  with  no  better  treatment  in  his  hands,  and  as  to 
the  mouth,  it  was  altogether  wrong,  as  well  in  its  general 
make  as  in  such  niceties  as  the  junction  of  the  skin  of  the 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


I97 


lips  to  the  common  skin  around  them.  In  a word,  the 
poor  face  was  battered  all  to  pieces  and  utterly  demolished ; 
nor  was  it  possible  to  doubt  or  question  that  it  fell  by  its 
own  demerits.  All  that  could  be  urged  in  its  defence — and 
even  that  I did  not  urge — being  that  this  very  face  had 
affected  me,  only  the  day  before,  with  a sense  of  higher 
beauty  and  intelligence  than  I had  ever  then  received  from 
sculpture,  and  that  its  expression  seemed  to  accord  with 
that  of  the  whole  figure,  as  if  it  were  the  sweetest  note 
of  the  same  music.  There  must  be  something  in  this ; the 
sculptor  disregarded  technicalities,  and  the  imitation  of 
actual  nature  the  better  to  produce  the  effect  which  he 
really  does  produce,  in  somewhat  the  same  way  as  a painter 
works  his  magical  illusions  by  touches  that  have  no  relation 
to  the  truth  if  looked  at  from  the  wrong  point  of  view. 
But  Powers  considers  it  certain  that  the  antique  sculptor 
had  bestowed  all  his  care  on  the  study  of  the  human  figure, 
and  really  did  not  know  how  to  make  a face.  I myself 
used  to  think  that  the  face  was  a much  less  important  thing 
with  the  Greeks,  among  whom  the  entire  beauty  of  the 
form  was  familiarly  seen,  than  with  ourselves  who  allow  no 
other  nudity. 

After  annihilating  the  poor  visage.  Powers  showed  us  his 
two  busts  of  Proserpine  and  Psyche,  and  continued  his  lec- 
ture by  showing  the  truth  to  nature  with  which  these  are 
modelled.  Still  insisting  upon  the  eye,  and  hitting  the  poor 
Venus  another  and  another  and  still  another  blow  on  that 
unhappy  feature,  Mr.  Powers  turned  up  and  turned  inward 


198 


THE  VENUS  DE’  MEDICI 


and  turned  outward  his  own  Titanic  orb, — the  biggest,  by 
far,  that  ever  I saw  in  mortal  head, — and  made  us  see  and 
confess  that  there  was  nothing  right  in  the  Venus  and 
everything  right  in  Psyche  and  Proserpine.  Powers  has 
had  many  difficulties  on  professional  grounds,  and  with  his 
brother  artists.  No  wonder  ! He  has  said  enough  in  my 
hearing  to  put  him  at  swords’  points  with  sculptors  of  every 
epoch  and  every  degree  between  the  two  inclusive  extremes 
of  Phidias  and  Clark  Mills.  . . . 

Yesterday  we  went  to  the  Uffizi  gallery,  and,  of  course, 
I took  the  opportunity  to  look  again  at  the  Venus  di  Medici 
after  Powers’s  attack  upon  her  face.  Some  of  the  defects 
he  attributed  to  her  I could  not  see  in  the  statue ; for  in- 
stance, the  ear  appeared  to  be  in  accordance  with  his  own 
rule,  the  lowest  part  of  it  being  about  in  a straight  line  with 
the  upper  lip.  The  eyes  must  be  given  up,  as  not,  when 
closely  viewed,  having  the  shape,  the  curve  outwards,  the 
formation  of  the  lids  that  eyes  ought  to  have  ; but  still,  at  a 
proper  distance,  they  seemed  to  have  intelligence  in  them 
beneath  the  shadow  cast  by  the  brow.  I cannot  help  think- 
ing that  the  sculptor  intentionally  made  every  feature  what 
it  is,  and  calculated  them  all  with  a view  to  the  desired 
effect.  Whatever  rules  may  be  transgressed,  it  is  a noble 
and  beautiful  face, — more  so,  perhaps,  than  if  all  rules  had 
been  obeyed.  I wish  Powers  would  do  his  best  to  fit  the 
Venus’s  figure  (which  he  does  not  deny  to  be  admirable) 
with  a face  which  he  would  deem  equally  admirable  and  in 
accordance  with  the  sentiment  of  the  form. 


THE  EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  MARCUS 
AURELIUS 


( Probably  a portrait  with  a favourite  battle  horsey  160—180  A . Z).) 


O climb  up  to  the  Capitol  to-day  past  the  Trophies  of 


Marius,  between  the  statues  of  the  Dioscuri  into  the 
Piazza  built  at  the  suggestion  of  Michelangelo,  as  a great 
and  splendid  chamber,  one  might  think,  for  the  equestrian 
statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  is  to  come  into  a world  of 
ghosts,  of  ghosts  which  have  always  ruled  the  world.  In 
spite  of  its  fame,  perhaps  even  because  of  it,  the  Capitol 
has  kept  nothing  of  its  antiquity,  save  the  Gemonian  steps 
and  a few  ruined  boulders  of  the  Tabularium.  Before  you 
is  the  Palazzo  del  Senatore,  a foundation  of  Boniface  in 
1389,  which  in  the  hands  of  Michelangelo  and  Sixtus  V. 
became  the  modern  building  we  now  see.  To  the  left  is 
the  Capitoline  Museum  built  for  the  most  part  under  In- 
nocent X.,  after  a design  by  Michelangelo,  while  to  the 
right  is  the  Palazzo  dei  Conservatori,  a foundation  of 
Nicholas  V.,  rebuilt,  again  in  the  manner  of  Michelangelo, 
under  Pius  IV.  in  1564.  Nothing  at  all  remains  of  the 
time  of  the  Republic  or  the  Empire  ; only  in  the  midst  of 
the  Piazza  formed  by  these  three  palaces  rides  the  philo- 
sophic Emperor  as  though  in  stoic  contemplation,  a ghost 
in  the  midst  of  ghosts,  as  it  were  an  exile  in  his  own  city. 


EDWARD  HUTTON 


200  EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS 

The  most  famous  spot  in  the  world  you  might  think  has 
become  nothing  but  a vast  museum. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  hills  that  on  either  hand  tower 
over  the  Piazza,  the  true  Capitolium  to  the  right,  the  dwell- 
ing-place of  Jupiter  Capitolinus,  which  has  returned  to 
something  of  its  primitive  wildness  of  which  Virgil  speaks  : 
Aurea  nunc , olim  silvestribus  horrida  dumis  and  to  the  left  the 
Arx,  the  sacred  citadel  of  Rome  beside  which  stood  the 
temple  of  Juno  Moneta — Juno  of  warning,  where  Chris- 
tianity has  built  a shrine  to  Madonna.  And  yet  in  spite  of 
the  absence  of  any  building  of  the  Rome  of  antiquity,  it  is 
chiefly  of  her  you  think  amid  the  work  of  the  Middle  Age, 
of  the  Renaissance,  of  the  world  of  to-day,  that  so  strangely, 
it  seems,  at  first  at  any  rate,  everywhere  confronts  you 
there  on  the  caput  and  citadel  of  the  world.  Little  by 
little,  however,  as  you  linger  there  you  come  to  understand 
that  as  everywhere  in  Rome,  you  cannot  divide  the  old  from 
the  new,  nor  Antiquity  from  the  Middle  Age,  nor  either 
from  the  modern  world.  In  her  immortal  life  the  one  has 
proceeded  from  the  other,  and  was  not  made  nor  created 
anew.  They  were  moods,  as  it  were,  of  the  City  : nor  can 
we  say  of  anything  eternal  that  it  was  young  and  grows  old. 
For  as  a melody  is  lost  in  a melody  so  in  her  ever-living 
soul  antiquity  passed  into  medievalism,  into  modernity,  each 
following  other  in  perfect  and  lovely  sequence ; and  the  last 
is  there  because  of  the  first,  the  new  because  of  the  old. 

And  since  this  is  the  life  of  Rome,  we  shall  find  it  per- 
fectly expressed  on  the  Capitol,  which  has  always,  as  it 


MARCUS  AURELIUS,  ROME 


EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS  201 


were,  summed  up  the  City  and  served  for  the  whole  world 
as  a symbol  of  it.  Because  it  was  here  that  Curtius  died 
for  the  people,  that  Tiberius  Gracchus  fell  in  their  cause, 
and  Marcus  Brutus,  after  the  death  of  Caesar,  spoke  in  de- 
fence of  the  Republic  and  his  crime,  therefore  in  the  Middle 
Age  it  was  on  the  Capitol  that  Arnold  of  Brescia,  Ste- 
faneschi  of  Trastevere,  Cola  di  Rienzo  and  Stefano  Porcari 
would  have  proclaimed  the  Republic  ; and  because  of  all 
these  things  it  is  there  Italy  has  to-day  set  up  her  monu- 
ment to  him  in  whom,  when  all  is  said,  she  found  again 
both  unity  and  freedom. 

It  is  true  that  the  mere  material  continuity  in  brass  and 
stone  is  not  so  manifest.  Yet  the  bare  fact  that  over  and 
over  again  everything  that  has  been  built  here  has  been 
swept  away  is  indicative  at  least  of  the  passionate  love  that 
has  always  surged  around  this  hill.  If  in  the  Middle  Age 
the  home  of  the  Senator  was  set  here,  it  was  not  by  chance  ; 
for  the  Capitol  has  always  been  the  citadel  of  the  Republic- 
anism of  the  people,  that,  smouldering  all  through  the 
Middle  Age  and  the  Renaissance,  is  even  yet  by  no  means 
extinguished.  In  some  sort  the  Senator  may  still  be  said 
to  dwell  here  on  the  Capitol,  and  the  Palazzo  dei  Con- 
servatori  is  even  yet  the  meeting-place  of  the  ancients  of 
Rome.  While  in  the  Capitoline  Museum  opposite  to  it, 
the  Romans  have  for  ages  placed  their  most  precious  pos- 
sessions, those  statues  in  marble  and  bronze  carved  or  cast 
by  their  ancestors  which  of  old  adorned  the  Forum  or  the 
Palaces  of  the  Caesars. 


202  EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS 


It  was  Michelangelo,  himself  a passionate  Republican 
and  always  so  unwillingly  the  servant  of  princes,  who 
brought  hither  the  most  priceless  treasure  of  the  City,  that 
equestrian  statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  in  gilded  bronze, 
creating  for  it  a magnificent  chamber,  fairer  far,  we  may 
believe,  than  that  we  see,  which  was  contrived  out  of  his 
design  by  his  disciples. 

The  statue  is  indeed  a stranger  here  where  it  seems  so 
perfectly  in  place,  for  of  old  it  stood  before  the  Arch  of 
Septimus  Severus  in  the  Forum,  till  Sergius  III.,  struck  by 
its  beauty  perhaps,  and  looking  for  a champion,  thinking  it 
was  Constantine,  placed  it  in  front  of  the  Lateran  Palace. 
That  was  in  the  first  years  of  the  Tenth  Century.  Then 
towards  the  end  of  the  same  century,  when  there  seemed 
to  all  but  a reprieve  of  less  than  forty  years  before  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  the  end  of  the  world,  the  Emperor  Otho  the 
Great  set  John  XIII.  on  the  Throne  of  the  Fisherman 
against  the  popular  will.  The  Barons,  as  always  ready  for 
any  excuse,  roused  the  City,  the  Captains  of  the  Regions, 
led  by  the  Prior  Peter  the  Prefect,  followed  them,  and  seiz- 
ing Pope  John  out  of  the  Lateran  threw  him  into  Castel  S. 
Angelo,  driving  him  at  last  to  exile  in  Campania,  till  Conte 
Goffredo,  the  head  and  front  of  the  mischief,  being  mur- 
dered, they  set  the  Pope  at  liberty,  who  returned  to  Rome. 
Then  came  the  Emperor  at  Christmas  time  to  do  justice 
on  the  Roman  people.  And  he  took  the  Captains  of  the 
Regions  and  hanged  twelve  of  them,  and  Peter  the  Prefect 
he  bound  naked  on  an  ass  and  set  an  earthen  jar  on  his 


EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS  203 

head  and  had  him  flogged  through  the  City.  And  when  he 
was  dead  he  hung  his  body — what  was  left  of  it — by  the 
hair  to  the  head  of  the  great  bronze  horse,  on  which,  as  he 
thought,  Constantine  rode  before  the  Lateran  that  all  might 
see  his  justice  on  his  enemies. 

Called  by  the  pilgrims  Theodoric,  by  the  people  Quintus 
Curtius,  and  by  the  clergy  Constantine,  it  stood  for  more 
than  five  hundred  years  before  the  Lateran  after  it  had 
served  Otho  for  a gallows.  It  was  ever  held  in  veneration 
by  all,  and  in  the  wild  joy  of  the  Tribunate  of  Rienzo  the 
people  filled  the  bronze  belly  of  the  horse  with  wine  and 
water,  so  that  water  flowed  from  one  of  its  nostrils  and 
wine  from  the  other.  So  greatly  was  it  held  in  honour  that 
though  Michelangelo  and  the  Pope  had  long  wished  to  re- 
move it  from  the  Lateran  to  its  present  position  here  on 
the  Capitol,  the  Canons  in  whose  care  it  was  were  only 
won  to  consent  in  1536,  demanding  in  acknowledgment  of 
their  rights  payment  from  the  Senators.  So  every  year  a 
bunch  of  flowers  was  and  is  still  presented  by  the  City  to 
the  Chapter  : a custodian  u Custode  del  Cavallo  ” being  ap- 
pointed with  a salary  of  ten  scudi  annually  to  guard  it. 
And  so  well  did  Michelangelo  understand  the  ever-living 
City,  that  he  was  not  ashamed  to  make  the  pedestal  out  of 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  Temple  of  the  Dioscuri. 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 

{About  800,  A.  /).) 

JAMES  FERGUSON  AND  JAMES  BURGESS 
HE  island  of  Elephanta,  or  Gharapuri,  as  it  is  called 


by  the  Hindus,  is  about  six  miles  from  Bombay,  and 
four  from  the  shore  of  the  mainland.  It  was  named  Ele- 
phanta by  the  Portuguese  from  a large  stone  elephant  thir- 
teen feet  two  inches  in  length  and  about  seven  feet  four 
inches  high,  that  stood  near  the  old  landing-place  on  the 
south  side  of  the  island. 

The  great  cave  is  in  the  western  hill  of  the  island,  and 
at  an  elevation  of  about  250  feet  above  high-water  leveL 
It  is  hewn  out  of  a hard  compact  trap  rock,  which  has  also 
been  cut  away  on  either  side,  leaving  open  areas  affording 
entrances  from  its  east  and  west  sides.  The  principal  en- 
trance faces  the  north.  We  may  consider  the  body  of  the 
cave  as  a square  of  about  ninety-one  feet  each  way.  It  is 
supported  by  six  rows  of  columns,  six  in  each  row,  except 
at  the  corners  and  where  the  uniformity  is  broken  on  the 
west  side  to  make  room  for  the  shrine,  or  Sacellum,  which 
occupies  a space  equal  to  that  enclosed  by  four  of  the 
columns. 

The  pillars  closely  resemble  those  of  the  Dherwara 
Buddhist  caves  and  of  several  of  the  Brahmanical  caves  at 
Elura,  with  a thick  projecting  cushion-shaped  member  as 


SIVA,  CAVES  OF  ELEPHANTA 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA  205 

the  principal  feature  of  the  capital.  Imitations  of  wooden 
beams  over  the  pillars  run  across  the  cave. 

It  is  a matter  of  some  difficulty  to  fix  the  age  of  this  tem- 
ple and  the  only  record  that  could  have  helped  us  to  its  so- 
lution has  long  been  lost.  Architecturally  we  may  regard 
it  as  probably  belonging  to  the  latter  part  of  the  Eighth  or 
beginning  of  the  Ninth  Century  of  our  era. 

The  most  striking  of  the  sculptures  is  the  famous  colossal 
three-faced  bust,  at  the  back  of  the  cave  facing  the  entrance, 
called  a Trimurti,  or  tri-form  figure.  It  occupies  a recess 
ten  and  a half  feet  deep  and  twenty-one  feet,  six  inches  in 
width,  rising  from  a base  about  two  feet,  nine  inches  in 
height.  In  the  corners  of  the  opening,  both  in  the  floor 
and  lintel,  are  holes  as  if  to  receive  door  posts,  and  in  the 
floor  is  a groove,  as  if  a screen  had  been  used  for  occasion- 
ally concealing  the  sculpture,  or  perhaps  there  was  a railing 
here  to  keep  back  the  crowd. 

The  central  face  has  a mild  and  tranquil  appearance ; the 
lower  lip  is  thick;  the  breast  is  ornamented  with  a necklace 
of  large  stones  or  pearls,  and  below  it  a rich  jewel  breast 
ornament ; in  the  left  hand  he  holds  what  may  represent  a 
gourd,  as  the  kamandala  or  drinking-vessel  of  an  ascetic 
Brahman  or  Yogi.  The  right  hand,  like  the  nose,  has  been 
mutilated,  but,  when  it  was  entire,  it  perhaps  held  the  snake, 
the  head  of  which  still  remains  behind  the  right  ear.  The 
head-dress  or  mukuta  is  fastened  by  the  folds  or  bands  that 
encompass  the  neck;  it  is  richly  wrought,  and  high  up  on 
the  right  side  it  bears  a crescent,  a peculiar  emblem  of 


206 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 


Siva.1  The  jewel  in  front  “ is  certainly, ” as  Mr.  Erskine 
remarks,  u both  for  elegance  and  beauty  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  Hindu  taste  anywhere  to  be  met  with.’' 

The  face  to  the  spectator’s  left  is  that  of  Rudra,  or  Siva 
as  the  Destroyer.  His  right  hand  comes  up  before  his 
breast,  and  the  cobra,  one  of  his  favourite  symbols,  is  twisted 
round  the  wrist,  and  with  its  hood  expanded  looks  him  in 
the  face,  while  he  appears  to  contemplate  it  with  a grim 
smile.  His  tongue  appears  between  his  slightly  parted  lips, 
and  at  a corner  of  the  mouth  a tusk  projects  downwards. 
The  brow  has  an  oval  prominence  in  the  centre,  represent- 
ing the  third  eye  which  Siva  has  in  his  forehead — always 
represented  on  his  images  vertically  as  opening  up  the  fore- 
head. 

The  third  face  of  the  Trimurti,  that  to  the  spectator’s 
right,  has  always  been  regarded,  and  perhaps  correctly,  as 
Siva  in  the  character  of  Vishnu  the  Preserver,  holding  in 

1 “ His  first  or  destructive  character  is  sometimes  intensified,  and  he  be 
comes  Bhairava,‘  the  terrible  destroyer,’  who  takes  a pleasure  in  destruction. 
He  is  also  Bhuteswara,  the  lord  of  ghosts  and  goblins.  In  these  charac- 
ters he  haunts  cemeteries  and  places  of  cremation,  wearing  serpents  round 
his  head  and  skulls  for  a necklace,  attended  by  troops  of  imps  and  tramp- 
ling on  rebellious  demons.  He  sometimes  indulges  in  revelry,  and, 
heated  with  drink,  dances  furiously  with  his  wife  Devi  the  dance  called 
Tandava,  while  troops  of  drunken  imps  caper  round  them.  Possessed  of 
so  many  powers  and  attributes,  he  has  a great  number  of  names,  and  is 
represented  under  a variety  of  forms.  One  authority  enumerates  a thou- 
sand and  eight  names,  but  most  of  these  are  descriptive  epithets,  as  Tri- 
lochana,  the  three-eyed;  Nila-Kantha,  the  blue-throated,  and  Panch- 
anana,  the  five-faced.  Siva  is  a fair  man  with  five  faces  and  four  arms. 
He  is  commonly  represented  seated  in  profound  thought,  with  a third  eye 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 


207 


his  right  hand  one  of  his  emblems,  a lotus  flower.  It  is  very 
tastefully  sculptured  with  festoons  of  pearl  pendants  on  the 
head-dress. 

On  each  side  of  the  Trimurti  recess  is  a pilaster  in  front 
of  which  stand  gigantic  dwarpalas , or  doorkeepers.  The 
one  to  the  right  is  twelve  feet,  nine  inches  high,  and  is  now 
the  most  entire  of  the  two.  The  cap,  like  most  of  those 
on  the  larger  figures,  is  high  and  has  round  it  a sort  of 
double  coronal  of  plates.  The  left  arm  leans  on  the  head 
of  a Pisacha , or  dwarf  demon,  who  is  about  seven  feet  high, 
and  has  on  his  head  a wig  with  a smooth  surface  ; he  wears 
a necklace  and  a folded  belt  across  his  stomach. 

The  dwarpala  on  the  east  side  is  thirteen  feet,  six  inches 
high,  and  is  similarly  attended  by  a dwarf  Pisacha  standing 
in  a half  crouching  attitude,  with  prominent  eyes,  and  thick 
lips,  between  which  his  tongue  hangs  out. 

The  compartment  to  the  east  of  the  Trimurti  contains 


in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  contained  in  or  surmounted  by  the  moon’s 
crescent ; his  matted  locks  are  gathered  up  into  a coil  like  a horn,  which 
bears  upon  it  the  symbol  of  the  river  Ganges,  which  he  caught  as  it  fell 
from  heaven;  a necklace  of  skulls  hangs  round  his  neck  and  serpents 
twine  about  his  neck  as  a collar;  his  neck  is  blue  from  drinking  the 
deadly  poison  which  would  have  destroyed  the  world,  and  in  his  hand  he 
holds  a trident  called  Pinaka.  His  garment  is  the  skin  of  a tiger,  a deer 
or  an  elephant ; sometimes  he  is  clothed  in  a skin  and  seated  upon  a tiger 
skin,  and  he  holds  a deer  in  his  hand.  He  is  generally  accompanied  by 
his  bull  Nandi.  He  also  carries  the  bow  Ajagava,  a drum  in  the  shape 
of  an  hour-glass,  the  Khatwanga,  or  club  with  a skull  at  the  end  or  a 
cord  for  binding  refractory  offenders.  His  Pramathas,  or  attendants,  are 
numerous,  and  are  imps  and  demons  of  various  kinds.  His  third  eye  has 
been  very  destructive.” — Janies  Dowson. 


208  the  rock  carvings  of  elbphanta 

many  figures  grouped  about  a gigantic  Arddhanari  not  un- 
naturally mistaken  by  European  visitors  ignorant  of  Hindu 
mythology  for  an  Amazon.  This  figure  is  sixteen  feet, 
nine  inches  in  height ; it  leans  to  the  right,  which,  as  usual 
in  the  representations  of  Arddhanari,  is  the  male  side,  and 
with  one  of  its  four  arms  rests  on  the  bull  Nandi.  The 
head-dress  is  the  usual  high  one,  with  two  heavy  folds  de- 
scending on  the  left  or  female  side  of  it  and  reaching  the 
shoulder,  while  the  right  side  differs  in  ornamentation  and 
bears  a crescent.  On  the  left  side  the  hair  falls  down  along 
the  brow  in  a series  of  small  ringlets,  while  on  the  right 
there  is  a line  of  knobs  at  the  under  edge  of  the  cap. 
The  back  pair  of  hands  is  in  fair  preservation,  the  right 
holds  up  the  naga , or  cobra,  the  left  a metallic  mirror,  and 
has  rings  on  the  middle  and  little  fingers.  Opposite  to  the 
upturned  back  left  arm  Vishnu  is  represented  riding  upon 
Garuda.  Vishnu  has  here  four  arms,  the  front  left  arm 
seems  to  have  rested  on  his  knee,  the  other  is  raised  and 
holds  his  chakra , or  discus. 

On  the  right  or  male  side  of  Arddhanari,  and  on  a level 
with  Vishnu  and  Garuda,  are  Indra  and  Brahma,  the  latter 
seated  on  a lotus  throne  supported  by  five  wild  geese  which 
are  his  vahana. 

In  a recess  between  Brahma  and  the  uplifted  right  arm 
of  Arddhanari  is  Indra  the  king  of  the  Vaidik  gods,  the 
Jupiter  Pluvius  of  the  old  Hindus,  the  god  of  the  firma- 
ment, riding  on  the  celestial  elephant  Airavati  who  sends 
the  rain  from  his  trunk.  He  holds  the  vagra , or  thunder- 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA  209 

bolt,  in  his  left  hand,  and  in  his  right  what  may  have  been 
the  ankus , or  goad,  for  driving  the  elephant.  Numerous 
other  figures  fill  up  the  remainder  of  the  compartment. 

The  compartment  to  the  west  of  theTrimurti  is  thirteen 
feet  wide  by  seventeen  feet  in  height,  with  abase  rising  two 
feet,  six  inches  from  the  floor.  The  two  principal  figures 
are  Siva  and,  at  his  left  hand,  his  sakti — Parvati  or  Uma. 

The  figure  of  Siva  is  sixteen  feet  high  and  has  four  arms; 
the  two  left  ones  are  now  broken  off.  As  elsewhere,  he 
has  a high  cap  with  three  pointed  plates  rising  out  of  the  band 
of  it,  and  a smaller  one  in  front  of  that  on  the  forehead. 
Between  these  is  a crescent  over  each  temple.  From  the 
crown  rises  a sort  of  cup  or  shell  in  which  is  a singular 
three-headed  female  figure  of  which  the  arms  are  broken 
off.  It  probably  represents  the  three  principal  streams, 
which,  according  to  Hindu  geography,  form  the  main 
stream  of  their  sacred  river,  namely,  the  Ganga,  Yamuna, 
or  Jamna,  and  the  Saraswati. 

On  Siva’s  left  stands  Parvati,  about  twelve  feet,  four  inches 
high,  wearing  a circlet  round  the  brow,  from  under  which 
the  hair  is  represented  in  small  curls  round  the  brow.  The 
head-dress  rises  in  tiers,  and  has  a pointed  plate  in  front,  and 
behind  the  neck  on  the  right  side  is  a sort  of  cushion,  per- 
haps of  the  back  hair.  Her  dress  comes  over  the  right  leg, 
the  corner  falling  to  the  ankle,  and  then  passes  over  the 
left  leg,  and  a loose  robe  hangs  over  her  right  arm. 

On  Siva’s  right  are  Brahma  and  Indra.  On  Parvati’s 
left  we  find  Vishnu  on  Garuda. 


210 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 


Passing  to  the  west  porch,  we  come  to  the  fourth  com- 
partment which  represents  the  marriage  of  Siva  and  Par- 
vati,  in  which  she  stands  at  his  right  hand,  a position  which 
the  wife  rarely  occupies  except  on  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage. At  Siva’s  left,  crouching  on  his  hams,  is  a three- 
faced Brahma  who  is  acting  the  part  of  priest  in  the  cere- 
mony. 

In  the  fifth  compartment,  Siva  and  Parvati  are  repre- 
sented seated  together  on  a raised  floor  and  both  adorned 
as  in  the  other  sculptures.  Behind  Parvati’s  right  shoulder 
stands  a female  figure  with  a child  astraddle  on  her  left  side. 
This  is  probably  intended  to  represent  a nurse  bearing 
Karttikeya,  called  also  Skanda  and  Mahasena,  the  war-god, 
the  son  of  Siva,  born  to  destroy  the  power  of  Tarak,  a 
giant  demon,  who  by  penance  secured  such  power  that  he 
troubled  earth,  hell,  and  heaven,  deprived  the  gods  of  their 
sacrifices,  and  drove  them  in  pitiable  fright  to  seek  the  aid 
of  Brahma.  Other  figures  of  attendants  fill  up  the  rest  of 
the  compartment. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  east  portico  is  a compartment 
facing  the  last  and  similar  to  it  in  which  Siva  and  Parvati 
again  appear  seated  together  in  the  upper  half  of  the  recess 
attended  by  Bhringi,  Ganesa  and  others.  Under  them  is 
the  ten-faced  Ravana,  King  of  Lanka  or  Ceylon,  the  grand- 
son of  Pulastya.  According  to  the  legend,  Ravana  got 
under  Kailasa,  or  the  Silver  Mountain,  that  he  might  carry 
it  off  to  Lanka,  and  so  have  Siva  all  to  himself  and  make 
sure  of  his  aid  against  Rama.  Parvati  perceiving  the  move- 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 


21 1 


ment,  called  in  fright  to  Siva,  on  which  he,  raising  his  foot, 
pressed  down  the  mount  on  Ravana’s  head,  and  fixed  him 
where  he  was  for  ten  thousand  years,  until  his  grandfather 
Pulastya  taught  him  to  propitiate  Siva  and  perform  austeri- 
ties, after  which  he  was  released,  and  became  a devoted 
Saiva.  Ravana’s  back  is  turned  to  the  spectator,  and  a sword 
is  stuck  in  his  waistband;  his  faces  are  entirely  obliterated, 
and  only  a few  of  his  twenty  arms  are  now  traceable. 

Passing  again  to  the  west  end  of  the  cave,  the  principal 
figure — Kapalabhrit — has  been  a standing  one,  about  eleven 
and  one-half  feet  in  height.  The  head-dress  is  high  and 
has  much  carving  upon  it,  with  a skull  and  cobra  over  the 
forehead  and  the  crescent  on  the  right.  The  face  is  in- 
dicative of  rage,  the  lips  set  with  tusks  projecting  down- 
wards from  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  the  eyes  large  as 
if  swollen.  Over  the  left  shoulder  and  across  the  thighs 
hangs  the  mundamala , or  rosary  of  human  skulls.  A 
weapon  seems  to  have  been  stuck  into  the  waist  cloth,  of 
which  some  folds  hang  over  the  right  hip.  His  arms  were 
eight,  but  five  of  them  with  both  the  legs  are  now  broken. 
The  small  human  body  on  his  left  was  transfixed  by  the 
short  spear  held  in  the  front  left  hand.  The  second  right 
hand  wields  a long  sword,  without  guard,  with  which  he 
seems  about  to  slay  his  victim,  the  third  left  hand  holds  a 
bell  as  if  to  intimate  the  moment  to  strike  the  fatal  blow, 
and  the  second  presents  a bowl  under  the  victim  to  receive 
its  blood  while  a cobra  twists  round  the  arm.  The  third 
right  hand  held  up  a human  form  by  the  legs.  This  is 


212 


THE  ROCK  CARVINGS  OF  ELEPHANTA 


Bhiarava  or  Kapalabhrit,  a form  of  Rudra  or  Siva,  and  one 
of  the  most  common  objects  of  worship  among  the  Maratha 
people. 

The  eighth  compartment  is  that  on  the  right  side  when 
entering  the  north  portico.  The  figure  of  Siva  in  the 
centre  is  about  ten  feet,  eight  inches  in  height.  It  has  had 
eight  arms,  nearly  all  broken.  The  head-dress  secured  by 
a band,  passing  under  the  chin,  is  the  usual  high  one. 

To  the  left  of  Siva  is  a female  figure  six  feet,  nine  inches 
high,  probably  Parvati.  She  wears  large  ear-rings,  rich 
bracelets,  and  a girdle  with  carefully  carved  drapery,  but 
her  face  and  breasts  are  defaced.  Brahma,  Vishnu,  Indra, 
Bhringi,  Ganesa  and  others  attend  on  Mahadeva  as  he 
dances  the  Tandava,  or  great  dance,  which  he  performs 
over  the  destruction  of  the  world. 

Facing  the  last  is  a compartment  containing  Siva  as 
Mahayogi,  or  the  Great  Ascetic.  Not  only  in  the  position 
given  to  the  ascetic  does  this  figure  resemble  that  of 
Buddha,  but  many  of  the  minor  accessories  are  scarcely  dis- 
guised copies.  Siva  has  only  two  arms,  both  of  them  now 
broken  off  at  the  shoulder;  he  is  seated  cross-legged  on  a 
padmasana , or  lotus  seat,  and  the  palms  of  his  hands  prob- 
ably rested  in  his  lap  between  the  upturned  soles  of  the 
feet.  The  stalk  of  the  lotus  forming  the  seat  is  upheld  by 
two  figures  shown  only  down  to  the  middle,  corresponding 
to  the  Naga-canopied  supporters  of  the  padmasana  of 
Buddha.  The  attendants  of  course  are  different,  one  of 
them  being  Uma  or  Parvati. 


THE  DAIBUTSU 

(Thirteenth  Century) 

BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN 

IMMEDIATELY  behind  the  temple  of  Hachiman  is  a 
small  hill  called  Shirahata-yama , whence  Yoritomo  is 
said  to  have  often  admired  the  prospect.  The  base  of  the 
hill  has  been  enclosed  and  laid  out  as  a garden. 

The  Daibutsu,  or  Great  Buddha,  stands  alone  among 
Japanese  works  of  art.  No  other  gives  such  an  impression 
of  majesty,  or  so  truly  symbolizes  the  central  idea  of 
Buddhism — the  intellectual  calm  which  comes  of  perfected 
knowledge  and  the  subjugation  of  all  passion.  But  to  be 
fully  appreciated,  the  Daibutsu  must  be  visited  many  times. 

There  had  been  a temple  in  this  place  since  the  Eighth 
Century,  but  the  image  is  of  much  later  date.  Its  precise 
history  is  involved  in  obscurity.  Tradition,  however,  says 
that  Yoritomo,  when  taking  part  in  the  dedication  of  the 
Daibutsu  at  Nara,  conceived  the  desire  of  having  a similar 
object  of  worship  at  his  own  capital,  but  died  before  he  could 
put  the  plan  into  execution.  One  of  the  ladies  of  his  court 
undertook  to  collect  funds  for  the  purpose,  and  in  the  year 
1252  the  Kamakura  Daibutsu  was  cast  by  Ono  Goroemon. 
History  tells  of  two  such  images.  The  first,  a wooden  one, 
was  designed  by  a priest  who  collected  money  far  and  wide 
amongst  all  classes,  and  in  1238  the  head  of  the  image, 


214 


THE  DAIBUTSU 


eighty  feet  in  circumference,  was  in  its  place,  while  the 
temple  in  which  it  stood  was  completed  in  1241  and 
dedicated  in  1243.  This  image  is  said  to  have  represented 
Amida,1  and  to  have  been  destroyed  by  a tempest.  The 
second  is  spoken  of  as  a gilt  bronze  image  of  Shaka,  and 
the  casting  is  said  to  have  been  begun  in  1252.  The 
present  one  represents  Amida,  and  notwithstanding  the 
difference  of  name,  is  probably  the  bronze  image  spoken 
of  above  as  dating  from  1252.  It  was  enclosed  in  a large 
building  fifty  yards  square,  whose  roof  was  supported  on 
sixty-three  massive  wooden  pillars.  Many  of  the  stone 
bases  on  which  they  stood  are  still  in  situ.  The  temple 
buildings  were  destroyed  by  tidal  waves  in  1369  and  1494, 
after  which  they  were  not  rebuilt.  Since  that  time  the 
image  has  remained  exposed  to  the  elements. 

The  Daibutsu  is  best  seen  from  about  half-way  up  the 
approach.  Its  dimensions  are  approximately  as  follows  : 

Height,  forty-nine  feet,  seven  inches ; circumference, 
ninety-seven  feet,  two  inches;  length  of  face,  eight  feet, 
five  inches ; width  from  ear  to  ear,  seventeen  feet,  nine 
inches ; round  white  boss  on  forehead,  one  foot,  three 
inches  ; length  of  eye,  three  feet,  eleven  inches  ; length  of 


1 Amida  (Sanskrit  Amitabha ),  a powerful  deity  dwelling  in  a lovely 
paradise  to  the  West.  Originally  Amida  was  an  abstraction,  the  ideal  of 
boundless  light.  His  image  may  be  recognized  by  the  halo  (goko)  sur- 
rounding not  only  the  head  but  the  entire  body,  and  by  the  hands  lying 
on  the  lap,  with  the  thumbs  placed  end  to  end.  The  spot  on  the  forehead 
is  emblematical  of  wisdom.  The  great  image  {Daibutsu)  at  Kamakura 
represents  this  deity. 


THE  DAIBUTSU,  KAMAKOURA 


THE  DAIBUTSU 


215 


eye-brow,  four  feet,  two  inches ; length  of  ear,  six  feet,  six 
inches  ; length  of  nose,  three  feet,  nine  inches ; width  of 
mouth,  three  feet,  two  inches  j height  of  bump  of  wisdom, 
two  feet,  four  inches ; curls  (of  which  there  are  830) 
height,  nine  inches  ; diameter  of  curls,  one  foot ; length 
from  knee  to  knee,  thirty-five  feet,  eight  inches ; cir- 
cumference of  thumb,  three  feet.  The  eyes  are  of  pure 
gold  and  the  silver  boss  weighs  thirty  pounds  avoirdupois. 
The  image  is  formed  of  sheets  of  bronze  cast  separately, 
brazed  together,  and  finished  off  on  the  outside  with  the 
chisel.  The  hollow  interior  of  the  image  contains  a small 
shrine,  and  the  visitor  may  ascend  into  the  head. 


THE  DAIBUTSU 

AIMES  HUMBERT 


E went  to  see  the  Daibutsu,  which  is  the  wonder  of 


Kamakura.  This  statue  is  dedicated  to  the  Dai- 
butsu, that  is  to  say,  to  the  great  Buddha,  and  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  most  finished  work  of  Japanese  genius,  from 
the  double  points  of  view  of  art  and  religious  sentiment. 
The  Temple  of  Hatchiman  had  already  given  us  a remark- 
able example  of  the  use  which  native  art  makes  of  nature 
in  producing  that  impression  of  religious  majesty  which  in 
our  northern  climates  is  effected  by  Gothic  architecture. 
The  shrine  of  Daibutsu  differs  considerably  from  the  first 
which  we  had  seen.  Instead  of  the  great  dimensions, 
instead  of  the  illimitable  space  which  seemed  to  stretch 
from  portal  to  portal  down  to  the  sea,  a solitary  and  mys- 
terious retreat  prepares  the  mind  for  some  supernatural 
revelation.  The  road  leads  far  away  from  every  habita- 
tion ; in  the  direction  of  the  mountain  it  winds  about  be- 
tween hedges  of  tall  shrubs.  Finally,  we  see  nothing  before 
us  but  the  high  road,  going  up  and  up  in  the  midst  of  foliage 
and  flowers ; then  it  turns  in  a totally  different  direction, 
and  all  of  a sudden,  at  the  end  of  the  alley,  we  perceive  a 
gigantic  brazen  Divinity,  squatting  with  joined  hands,  and 
the  head  slightly  bent  forward,  in  an  attitude  of  contem- 
plative ecstasy.  The  involuntary  amazement  produced  by 


THE  DAIBUTSU 


21 7 


the  aspect  of  this  great  image  soon  gives  place  to  admira- 
tion. There  is  an  irresistible  charm  in  the  attitude  of  the 
Daibutsu,  as  well  as  in  the  harmony  of  its  proportions. 
The  noble  simplicity  of  its  garments  and  the  calm  purity 
of  its  features  are  in  perfect  accord  with  the  sentiment  of 
serenity  inspired  by  its  presence.  A grove,  consisting  of 
some  beautiful  groups  of  trees,  forms  the  enclosure  of  the 
sacred  place,  whose  silence  and  solitude  are  never  dis- 
turbed. The  small  cell  of  the  attendant  priest  can  hardly 
be  discerned  amongst  the  foliage.  The  altar,  on  which  a 
little  incense  is  burning  at  the  feet  of  the  Divinity,  is  com- 
posed of  a small  brass  table  ornamented  by  two  lotus  vases 
of  the  same  metal,  and  beautifully  wrought.  The  steps  of 
the  altar  are  composed  of  large  slabs  forming  regular  lines. 
The  blue  of  the  sky,  the  deep  shadow  of  the  statue,  the 
sombre  colour  of  the  brass,  the  brilliancy  of  the  flowers,  the 
varied  verdure  of  the  hedges  and  the  groves,  fill  this  solemn 
retreat  with  the  richest  effect  of  light  and  colour.  The 
idol  of  the  Daibutsu,  with  the  platform  which  supports  it, 
is  twenty  yards  high ; it  is  far  from  equal  to  the  statue  of 
St.  Charles  Borromeo,  which  may  be  seen  from  Arona  on 
the  borders  of  Lake  Maggiore,  but  which  affects  the  spec- 
tator no  more  than  a trigonometrical  signal-post.  The  in- 
teriors of  these  two  colossal  statues  have  been  utilized.  The 
European  tourists  seat  themselves  in  the  nose  of  the  holy 
cardinal.  The  Japanese  descend  by  a secret  staircase  into 
the  foundations  of  their  Daibutsu,  and  there  they  find  a 
peaceful  oratory,  whose  altar  is  lighted  by  a ray  of  sunshine 


2l8 


THE  DAIBUTSU 


admitted  through  an  opening  in  the  folds  of  the  mantle  at 
the  back  of  the  idol’s  neck.  It  would  be  idle  to  discuss  to 
what  extent  the  Buddha  of  Kamakura  resembles  the  Buddha 
of  history,  but  it  is  important  to  remark  that  he  is  conform- 
able to  the  Buddha  of  tradition. 

The  Buddhists  have  made  one  authentic  and  sacramental 
image  of  the  founder  of  their  religion,  covered  with  charac- 
ters carefully  numbered,  with  thirty-two  principal  signs  and 
eighty  secondary  marks,  so  that  it  may  be  transmitted  to 
future  ages  in  all  its  integrity.  The  Japanese  idol  conforms 
in  all  essential  respects  to  this  established  type  of  the  great 
Hindu  reformer.  It  scrupulously  reproduces  the  pose , the 
meditative  attitudes ; thus  it  was  that  the  sage  joined  his 
hands,  the  fingers  straightened,  and  thumb  resting  against 
thumb;  thus  he  squatted,  the  legs  bent  and  gathered  up 
one  over  the  other,  the  right  foot  lying  upon  the  left  knee. 
The  broad,  smooth  brow  is  also  to  be  recognized,  and  the 
hair  forming  a multitude  of  short  curls.  Even  the  singular 
protuberance  of  the  skull,  which  slightly  disfigures  the  top 
of  the  head,  exists  in  this  statue,  and  also  a tuft  of  white 
hairs  between  the  eyebrows,  indicated  by  a little  rounded 
excrescence  in  the  metal. 

All  these  marks,  however,  do  not  constitute  the  physi- 
ognomy, the  expression  of  the  personage.  In  this  respect 
the  Daibutsu  of  Kamakura  has  nothing  in  common  with 
the  fantastic  dolls  which  are  worshipped  in  China  under 
the  name  of  Buddhas,  and  the  fact  appears  worthy  of  notice, 
because  Buddhism  was  introduced  into  Japan  from  China. 


THE  DAIBUTSU 


219 


In  spite  of  some  difference  in  style,  and  of  its  exceptional 
dimensions,  the  noble  Japanese  statue  is  the  fellow  of  those 
of  which  great  numbers  are  to  be  seen  in  the  islands  of 
Java  and  Ceylon;  those  sacred  refuges  which  were  opened 
to  Buddhism  when  it  was  expelled  from  India.  There  the 
type  of  the  hero  of  Contemplation  is  preserved  most  relig- 
iously, and  appears  under  its  most  exquisite  form,  in  mar- 
vellous images  of  basalt,  granite  and  clay,  generally  above 
the  human  statue.  This  type,  for  the  most  part  conven- 
tional, although  purely  authentic  in  the  eyes  of  faith,  is, 
especially  for  the  Cingalese  priests,  who  are  devoted  to  the 
art  of  statuary,  the  unique  subject  of  the  indefatigable  la- 
bour by  which  they  strive  to  realize  ideal  perfection.  They 
have  in  fact  produced  work  of  such  purity  as  has  hardly 
been  surpassed  by  the  Madonnas  of  Raphael. 

Japan  has  inherited  somewhat  of  the  lofty  tradition  of 
the  Buddhist  Isles.  Apostles  from  those  distant  shores 
have  probably  visited  it.  On  the  other  hand,  it  has  suffered 
to  an  extreme  degree,  and  under  the  influence  of  its  nearest 
neighbours,  all  the  fatal  consequences  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
master  himself,  and  especially  the  monstrous  vagaries  of  his 
disciples.  M.  Martin  Arzelier  remarks  in  his  Chretien 
Evangelique  that  it  would  be  an  unprofitable  task  to  under- 
take to  trace  the  pure  and  abstract  doctrine  of  the  founder 
of  the  u Good  Tao  ” in  Japanese  Buddhism.  The  Proteus 
of  Greek  fable,  he  adds,  is  not  less  intangible  than  the 
Good  Tao  in  its  metamorphoses  among  the  various  peo- 
ples of  Asia  and  the  Far  East. 


THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 

( Thirteenth  Century) 

WILHELM  LUBKE 

IN  France  we  perceive  the  first  appearance  of  a new 
style  of  sculpture  with  the  beginning  of  the  Thirteenth 
Century.  There  is  no  longer  any  trace  of  the  ascetically 
severe  and  constrained  style  which  prevailed  there  at  the 
end  of  the  last  century.  The  full  and  vigorous  figures 
with  their  free  and  bold  attitude  and  various  drapery  form 
in  every  respect  a striking  contrast  to  the  earlier  works. 
While  in  these,  awkwardness  of  bearing  and  an  expression 
of  monastic  constraint  seem  the  ideal  of  the  sculptor,  the 
masters  of  the  new  epoch  boldly  and  gladly  turned  their 
gaze  upon  the  rich  life  that  surrounded  them  with  its  vary- 
ing beauty,  and  in  independent  plastic  ornament  the  awak- 
ened love  of  nature  declared  itself. 

We  first  meet  with  the  style  in  its  complete  development 
in  the  statues  of  the  Sainte  Chapelle  at  Paris  which  was 
built  by  Peter  of  Montereau  (1245-1248)  by  order  of 
Louis  IX.  In  the  statues  of  the  Apostles,  and  in  the  small 
figures  of  angels  in  the  interior,  every  trace  of  the  rudeness 
of  the  earlier  style  has  vanished,  and  the  expression  of  ec- 
clesiastical dignity  is  blended  with  free  worldly  grace ; yet 
in  such  a manner,  that  the  latter  occasionally  triumphs  over 


STATUES  ON  PORTAL  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 


THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 


221 


the  former.  For  here  for  the  first  time,  there  appeared  that 
fondness  of  the  new  style  for  giving  the  figures  an  elastic 
swing  and  a lightness  of  movement,  by  drawing  in  one  side 
of  the  body  and  allowing  the  other  correspondingly  to  bend 
out,  thus  placing  the  figures  in  a bold  diagonal  position  in 
contrast  to  the  strictly  perpendicular  lines  of  the  archi- 
tecture. 

The  new  style,  however,  displays  its  highest  beauty  and 
splendour  in  the  facade  of  Rheims  Cathedral,  the  rich  orna- 
ment of  which  belongs  to  the  concluding  decades  of  the 
century.  Not  merely  are  the  three  mighty  portals  covered 
with  plastic  figures,  but  the  surfaces  of  the  buttresses,  the 
projection  above  the  portals,  and  the  space  over  the  great 
wheel  window  in  the  central  aisle  are  adorned  with  reliefs, 
and  the  baldachin  of  the  splendid  gallery  crowning  the 
whole,  and  also  the  buttresses  are  ornamented  with  statues, 
so  that  architecture  here  appears  almost  lost  in  the  most 
magnificent  sculpture.  All  the  dignity  and  grace  of  the  style 
here  reaches  a truly  classical  expression.  Nevertheless,  even 
here,  in  one  of  the  master-works  of  the  period,  we  perceive 
great  variety  in  the  mode  of  treatment.  There  are  heavy, 
short  statues,  with  clumsy  heads  of  the  most  stupid  expres- 
sion, similar  to  the  earlier  works  at  Chartres  ; others  are  of 
the  most  elegant  beauty,  full  of  nobleness  and  tender  grace, 
slender  in  proportion,  and  with  their  drapery  falling  in 
splendid  folds;  the  movements  charmingly  free,  and  the 
heads  full  of  smiling  loveliness  and  mild,  sublime  dignity; 
others,  again,  are  exaggeratedly  tall,  awkward  in  their  pro- 


222  THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 

portions,  with  small,  grinning  and  distorted  heads  and 
affected  attitudes.  If  in  these  we  perceive  the  exaggerated 
mannerism  with  which  insipid  workers  endeavoured  to  im- 
itate the  style  of  their  better  contemporaries,  the  more 
clumsy  statues  appear  as  works  of  artists  who  had  remained 
behind  in  the  advance  of  the  art,  and  had  not  been  able 
fully  to  extricate  themselves  from  the  typical  stiffness  of 
the  earlier  period.  It  is  a matter  of  course,  however,  that, 
with  the  immense  mass  of  sculptures  demanded  by  the 
time,  the  most  different  artistic  powers  must  have  been 
employed.  Yet  beauty  and  successful  effort  appear  to  pre- 
dominate. 

The  arrangement  itself  is  of  the  utmost  grandeur.  The 
whole  surfaces  of  the  three  portals  and  of  the  buttresses 
that  surround  them  are  treated  as  an  unbroken  gallery  of 
statues  more  than  life  size  amounting  in  all  to  four-and- 
thirty.  On  the  central  pillar  of  the  main  portal  is  a Ma- 
donna, who  has  here  been  accorded  the  first  place,  while  at 
Paris  and  Amiens  she  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  a 
side  portal.  This  figure  does  not  belong  to  the  best  works 
of  the  period,  the  proportions  being  too  slender,  and  in  the 
countenance  the  effort  after  grace  has  led  to  a vacant  smile 
and  somewhat  pinched  features.  The  drapery,  although 
good  in  the  main  idea,  is  somewhat  too  ingeniously  and 
affectedly  arranged.  On  the  other  hand,  the  other  statues 
of  the  principal  portal  are  for  the  most  part  of  great  beauty. 
The  artist  has  adopted  an  excellent  expedient  for  giving 
them  higher  life  and  greater  variety  of  mutual  relation,  for 


THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL  223 

scarcely  one  of  them  is  standing  alone,  but  they  are  all 
combined  in  groups,  in  which  may  be  recognized  the  An- 
nunciation, the  Circumcision,  and  other  incidents  from  the 
life  of  the  Virgin.  The  manner  in  which  the  figures  are 
turned  towards  each  other  has  something  in  it  of  the  grace- 
ful action  which  accompanies  the  confidential  intercourse  of 
intimate  persons.  The  refined  habits  of  worldly  society 
are  mirrored  in  these  groups,  just  as  they  are  subse- 
quently in  the  so-called  Sante  Conversazione  of  Italian  paint- 
ing. Thus,  in  the  Annunciation,  the  angel  is  turning  with 
extreme  grace  to  the  Virgin  ; the  venerable  figure  of  the 
high  priest  is  stretching  out  his  arms  with  gentle  kindliness 
towards  the  Infant  Christ,  to  receive  Him  for  circumcision, 
while  the  two  assisting  personages  are  bending  forwards 
with  an  air  of  attention.  Side  by  side  with  all  this  splen- 
dour of  drapery,  others  again  produce  an  effect  from  the 
homely  simplicity  of  the  grand  folds  with  which  the  gar- 
ment falls.  (Two  female  figures  were  renewed  in  the 
Renaissance  period.) 

At  the  south  portal  the  southern  row  exhibits  heavy, 
awkward  figures  with  large  heads,  though  even  these  display 
throughout  an  effort  after  life  and  action.  We  see  Abra- 
ham with  Isaac  kneeling  before  the  altar,  Moses  with  the 
Tables  of  the  Law,  St.  John  with  the  Lamb,  Simeon  with 
the  Infant  Christ,  and  two  other  saints.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  northern  row  of  the  same  portal,  consisting  of 
bishops  and  kings,  is  among  the  most  beautiful  and  perfect 
works  of  the  whole  cathedral ; the  attitudes  are  easy  and 


224  THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 

free,  the  drapery  is  treated  with  distinctness,  and  is  excel- 
lent in  its  variety  of  character ; the  heads  alone  are  at  times 
hard,  sharp,  and  poor. 

The  most  uniform  in  treatment  are  the  figures  of  the 
north  portal.  We  here  see  a figure  of  the  greatest  youth- 
ful grace,  holding  in  his  right  hand  a book,  and  with  the 
left  raising  the  mantle  and  pressing  it  against  his  bosom,  so 
that  the  folds  fall  grandly  and  flowingly  down  to  the  feet ; 
also  a St.  Stephen,  whose  deacon’s  attire,  in  its  simple  treat- 
ment, no  less  beautifully  reveals  the  modesty  of  his  whole 
bearing.  Two  angels  are  extremely  charming,  who  are 
nodding  confidingly  to  a simple  and  noble-looking  saint 
standing  between  them.  All  these  works  breathe  the  ut- 
most perfection  of  style.  Boundless,  however,  is  the 
abundance  of  plastic  ornament,  which  is  everywhere  intro- 
duced on  the  walls  and  on  the  archivolts  in  graceful  reliefs, 
small  figures,  and  groups,  all  containing  a world  of  naive 
beauty  and  life.  On  the  three  great  tympanums  above  the 
portals  and  the  two  outer  buttresses  we  see  in  the  centre 
the  Crowning  of  the  Virgin  ; on  the  left  the  Crucifixion ; 
and  on  the  right  Christ  enthroned  and  surrounded  by  angels 
with  instruments  of  torture  ; and  lastly,  on  the  two  outer- 
most compartments,  the  Annunciation  is  depicted;  all  are 
full  of  life  and  energy,  and  admirably  arranged  within  the 
space  allotted. 

An  abundance  of  characteristic  touches  force  themselves 
upon  the  eye  of  the  spectator  with  regard  to  the  artistic 
feeling  and  the  study  of  nature  that  marked  the  masters  of 


THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL  225 

these  grand  works.  Thus,  on  the  archivolts  of  the  main 
portal,  we  find  a St.  Sebastian  displaying  accurate  anatom- 
ical detail  and  excellent  execution.  Riders  and  their  horses 
are  repeatedly  depicted  in  true  and  lifelike  attitudes. 
The  figures  of  mature  and  old  men  are,  for  the  most  part, 
treated  in  a thoroughly  characteristic  and  even  individual 
manner,  the  wrinkles  on  the  neck  and  forehead  are  de- 
lineated, and  a sharp  prominence  is  given  to  the  features, 
though  the  drapery  is  in  the  usual  style.  Others,  on  the 
contrary,  which  are  to  retain  an  ideal  form,  such  as  angels, 
youths,  women  and  the  Saviour,  acquire  a more  typical  and 
general  stamp,  and  exhibit  a softer,  fuller,  and  tenderer 
treatment.  The  hair  and  beard  are  also  employed  as  means 
of  characterization.  While  in  the  sterner  figures  they  are 
arranged  in  hard  curls,  like  those  of  the  earlier  style,  in  the 
more  beautiful  works  they  exhibit  a freedom  and  delicacy ; 
and  by  wavy  softness,  large  flowing  curls,  or  by  thick 
masses,  they  characterize  with  great  nicety  the  age  and  sex. 

The  prime  of  the  Thirteenth  Century  has  been  well 
compared  with  the  brilliant  epoch  of  Greek  art  in  the  time 
of  Phidias.  In  both  there  is  a similar  enthusiasm  for  high- 
est interests,  and  a disregard  of  the  material  details  of  life  ; 
in  short,  that  elevated  tone  of  feeling  which  can  alone  pro- 
duce creations  of  a purely  ideal  character.  Both  start  with 
a store  of  sacred  traditions  transmitted  from  an  earlier 
period,  and  both  find  spread  out  before  them  a series  of 
typically-established  figures,  to  which,  with  their  finer  sense 
of  nature  and  their  deeper  feeling,  they  are  able  to  impart 


226  THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL 

greater  life.  For  in  the  one  as  in  the  other,  it  was  not  the 
new  that  was  desired,  but  ever  the  old  and  the  traditional, 
the  well-known  and  familiar  creations  of  the  myths  that 
lived  in  the  popular  mind.  Hence  in  the  ever-recurring 
subjects,  the  art  could  work  its  way  to  a fixed  style,  to 
greater  freedom,  and  lastly,  to  the  utmost  grace.  To  this 
was  added  its  combination  with  architecture,  a combina- 
tion so  similar,  although  at  the  same  time  so  different. 
One  thing  above  all  exhibits  great  affinity  with  the  antique, 
namely,  that  the  decoration  of  a church  in  the  Thirteenth 
Century  presented  to  the  sculptor  as  great  a variety  of  tasks 
as  the  adornment  of  a Greek  temple  had  formerly  done. 
Every  kind  of  sculpture  was  employed  : the  colossal  statue, 
either  separate  or  combined  into  free  groups ; graceful 
statuettes,  sometimes  sitting  and  sometimes  standing,  intro- 
duced on  consoles  and  archivolts  ; the  most  extensive  haut - 
relief  and  the  most  delicate  bas-relief  and  even  these  in  the 
most  varied  architectural  framework,  either  on  the  sides  of 
pillars,  or  in  fringe-like  strips,  or  in  pointed  pediments. 
This  rich  variety  afforded  plastic  art  the  opportunity  for 
advancing  towards  freedom  in  the  most  manifold  manner. 

As  regards  statues,  the  essential  difference  is  that  the 
Greek  sculptors  aimed,  above  all,  at  the  representation  of 
human  beauty,  sifting  to  the  utmost  the  laws  of  physical 
organization ; and  that  even  the  drapery  with  them  was  ar- 
ranged only  with  respect  to  the  figure,  the  build  and  beauty 
of  which  it  was  designed  to  betray  and  even  to  exhibit  in 
every  fold.  On  the  other  hand,  among  the  sculptors  of 


THE  PORTALS  OF  RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL  227 

the  Thirteenth  Century,  who  had  to  represent  Christian 
subjects,  and  therefore  to  render  the  soul  and  the  spiritual 
faculties  perceptible  in  the  physical  form,  the  body  was  of 
less  importance  ; it  was  only  felt  in  its  general  proportions, 
and  it  was,  moreover,  veiled  in  drapery,  which  slightly 
intimated  the  movements  by  the  grand  flow  of  the  folds, 
just  like  a melody  sustained  by  accompanying  instruments. 
Thus  Christian  feeling  created  a plastic  style  in  harmony 
with  itself,  and  found  suitable  expression  for  everything  fall- 
ing within  its  range.  The  charming  loveliness  of  the 
angels,  the  calm  blessedness  of  the  glorified  and  the  saints, 
the  seriousness  of  the  Apostles,  the  resigned  humility  of  the 
martyrs,  the  gentle  purity  of  the  teaching  Saviour,  and  His 
solemn  dignity  as  Judge — all  this  has  never  been  more 
purely  and  nobly  portrayed  in  plastic  art  than  at  this  period. 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE 

(Lorenzo  di  done  Ghiberti , I 3/8-1455) 

ERNEST  H.  SHORT 

HE  new  spiritual  atmosphere,  with  its  strong  artistic 


potentialities,  which  followed  the  preaching  of  St. 
Francis,  was  much  more  favourable  to  the  painter’s  art  than 
to  that  of  the  sculptor.  Giotto  was  able  to  give  adequate 
expression  to  the  dominant  ideas  of  his  age  with  much 
greater  freedom  than  such  an  artist  as  Andrea  Pisano. 
This  general  tendency  unfavourable  to  the  growth  of  a 
vigorous  school  of  Italian  sculpture  continued  for  a long 
time.  Its  effect  in  turning  the  budding  artist’s  dreams 
towards  painting  or  influencing  his  work  in  unsculptur- 
esque  fashion  cannot  be  doubted.  Perhaps  this  can  be  most 
fully  illustrated  by  the  subsequent  history  of  the  doors  of 
the  Florentine  Baptistery.  Andrea  Pisano  had  erected  the 
first  of  the  three  bronze  doors  seventy  years  earlier.  The 
political  difficulties  in  the  latter  part  of  the  Fourteenth 
Century  prevented  the  Florentine’s  completing  the  work. 
In  1403,  however,  as  a thank-offering  after  the  great  plague 
of  1400,  the  Guild  of  Florentine  merchants  decided  to 
complete  the  bronze  doors  of  the  Baptistery.  The  com- 
mission was  offered  for  public  competition  and  advertised 
throughout  Italy.  The  account  left  by  Lorenzo  Ghiberti, 


BRONZE  DOORS,  BAPTISTERY,  FLORENCE 
By  Ghiberti 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE  229 

the  eventual  winner,  enables  us  to  realize  the  effect  of  the 
news. 

Ghiberti  had  been  born  in  1381,  so  that  he  was  barely 
out  of  his  teens  when  the  announcement  of  the  Florentine 
Guild  was  published.  He  had  been  educated  as  a gold- 
smith, a craft  which  always  flourishes  when  wealth  is  ac- 
cumulating, civil  disorders  are  frequent  and  banking 
systems  insecure.  It  provides  a ready  means  of  hoarding  a 
small  store  against  a time  of  stress.  But  to  an  artist  of 
ardent  imagination  and  real  ambition  like  the  young 
Ghiberti,  the  narrow  limits  set  by  goldsmithery  were 
cramping.  Reading  between  the  lines,  we  can  now  see 
that  he  was  seriously  contemplating  abandoning  his  own  art 
for  the  more  expressive  art  of  painting.  He  had  indeed 
taken  the  first  step.  In  a passage  from  his  own  manuscript 
he  narrates : 

“ In  my  youth,  anno  Christi  1400,  moved  both  by  the 
corrupted  air  of  Florence  and  the  bad  state  of  the  country, 
I fled  with  a worthy  painter  who  had  been  sent  for  by 
Signor  Malatesta  of  Pesaro,  and  he  gave  us  a room  to  paint, 
which  we  did  with  great  diligence.  My  soul  was  at  this 
time  much  turned  towards  painting,  partly  from  the  hope  of 
the  works  in  which  Signor  Malatesta  promised  to  employ 
us,  and  partly  because  my  companion  was  always  showing 
me  the  honour  and  utility  which  would  accrue  to  me. 
Nevertheless,  at  this  moment,  when  my  friends  wrote 
to  me  that  the  governors  of  the  Baptistery  were  sending  for 
masters  whose  skill  in  bronze  working  they  wished  to  prove, 


23O  THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE 

and  that  from  all  Italian  lands  many  maestri  were  coming  to 
place  themselves  in  this  strife  of  talent,  I could  no  longer 
forbear,  and  asked  leave  of  Signor  Malatesta  who  let  me 
depart/’ 

Coming  to  Florence,  Ghiberti  found  himself  opposed  to 
six  of  the  best  sculptors  of  Italy.  There  was  Filippo 
Brunelleschi,  who  afterwards  became  famous  as  the  archi- 
tect of  the  dome  of  the  Florentine  Cathedral.  There  was 
also  Jacopo  della  Quercia,  the  Sienese  sculptor.  Each 
competitor  received  u four  tables  of  brass,”  and  a year  was 
given  to  prepare  a panel  representing  the  u Sacrifice  of  Isaac.” 
At  the  end  of  the  time  it  was  evident  that  the  contest 
had  resolved  itself  into  a duel  between  Ghiberti  and 
Brunelleschi.  Nor  was  there  any  doubt  as  to  the  winner. 
The  panels  of  both  men  can  still  be  seen  side  by  side  in 
the  National  Museum  at  Florence.  They  witness  to  the 
truth  of  Ghiberti’s  boast : w The  palm  of  victory  was 

conceded  to  me  by  all  the  judges  and  by  those  who  com- 
peted with  me.  Universally  the  glory  was  given  to  me 
without  any  exception.”  The  commission  was  dated 
November  23,  1403.  The  Merchants’  Guild  agreed  to 
pay  all  expenses — the  sum  eventually  expended  upon  the 
pair  of  gates  being  22,000  ducats.  The  wages  of  his  assist- 
ants, who  included  Donatello,  Gozzoli  and  Uccello,  were 
defrayed  by  the  Guild.  Lorenzo  himself  received  200 
florins  a year,  for  which  he  agreed  to  give  all  his  time. 
He  was  bound  to  design  the  panels  and  execute  w the  nudes, 
draperies,  and  all  the  artistic  parts  with  his  own  hand.” 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE  23 1 

Upon  the  completion  of  the  first  pair  of  gates,  those 
executed  by  Andrea  Pisano  (1331-1334)  were  taken 
down  and  Ghiberti’s  gates  erected  in  the  place  of  honour 
facing  the  Cathedral.  Nor  was  this  all.  Twenty-five 
years  had  been  spent  already.  Yet  he  was  ordered  to 
furnish  another  pair — those  which  Michael  Angelo  called 
“ The  Gates  of  Paradise.”  They  were  unveiled  in  1452, 
when  they  in  their  turn  displaced  the  earlier  gates  of 
Ghiberti. 

The  “ Gates  of  Paradise  ” represent  the  zenith  that 
sculpture  could  attain,  following  the  path  indicated  by  the 
Pisani,  who  had  been  compelled  to  work  largely  in  relief, 
owing  to  the  necessity  laid  upon  them  of  being  primarily 
illustrators  of  the  Scriptures.  Ghiberti’s  last  pair  of  gates, 
therefore,  merit  a detailed  examination.  There  are  ten 
panels,  five  on  each  door.  Upon  these  are  pictured  scenes 
from  Old  Testament  history  from  the  Creation  to  Solomon. 
In  some  of  the  reliefs,  Ghiberti  put  as  many  as  a hundred 
figures.  Yet  the  panels  never  appear  crowded.  Through- 
out there  is  a fine  appreciation  of  the  story  to  be  depicted. 
The  beauty  of  the  drawing  of  the  nudes  and  of  the  soft 
flow  of  the  drapery  is  extreme.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
select  a panel  which  will  illustrate  all  the  charms  of  design 
and  beauties  of  technique  with  which  the  “ Gates  of 
Paradise  ” abound.  If  one  must  choose,  the  panel  upon 
which  Ghiberti  depicts  the  Creation  of  Adam  and  Eve,  the 
Temptation  and  the  Expulsion  from  Eden  seems  to  suggest 
itself.  From  it  we  can  judge  Ghiberti’s  treatment  of  the 


2J2  THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE 

male  and  female  nude.  We  can  see  how  marvellously  the 
sense  of  aerial  perspective  is  rendered  by  the  gradual 
diminution  of  relief.  The  figures  nearest  the  eye  are 
in  high  relief,  the  more  distant  forms  being  raised 
to  a less  and  less  degree,  until  the  multitude  of  the 
heavenly  host  melt  imperceptibly  into  the  bronze  back- 
ground. 

Technically — judged  from  the  standpoint  of  workman- 
ship in  bronze — u The  Creation  Panel  ” is  beyond  criticism. 
Comparing  it  with  a painting  by  Giotto,  or,  to  take  anartist 
of  a later  date,  by  Fra  Angelico,  we  feel,  however,  that 
something  is  lacking.  Though  the  subjects  depicted  are 
biblical,  Ghiberti’s  work  lacks  the  spirituality  which  an 
artist  working  under  the  influence  of  Giotto,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  infused  into  his  work.  Italy  in  the 
Fifteenth  Century  had  realized  the  fallacies  that  underlay 
the  narrow  creed  of  the  Church  and  the  too  rigid  philosophy 
qf  the  Scholastics. 

Ghiberti,  like  many  another  Italian  artist,  could  not 
accept  the  judgment  of  the  extreme  ascetics  who  saw  in 
the  beauties  of  the  human  form  only  snares  set  by  the 
devil  to  catch  the  souls  of  men.  Whatever  may  have  been 
Ghiberti’s  personal  religious  belief,  as  an  artist  he  knew 
that  such  a creed  was  impossible.  He  saw  that  the  beauties 
which  the  eye  could  see  were  his  raw  material.  The 
mystical  artists  of  the  Giottesque  school  would  have  cried 
with  Watts,  “ I paint  ideas,  not  things.”  Ghiberti  worked 
upon  the  principle  that  an  artist  holding  such  a creed  only 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE  233 

approaches  success  when  he  forgets  his  predilection  for 
ideas  in  the  interest  aroused  by  the  beauties  of  the 
natural  world  and  particularly  by  the  beauties  of  the  human 
form. 

These  broader  and  human  views  are  traceable  to  the 
growing  influence  of  the  democracy  in  the  Italian  cities. 
It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  such  a work  as  the  u Gates 
of  Paradise  ” was  in  every  sense  a public  work.  Its 
general  design  and  its  detailed  progress  were  continually 
supervised  by  the  hard-headed  burghers  of  Florence. 
When,  for  instance,  Ghiberti  was  instructed  on  January  2, 
1425,  by  the  consuls  of  the  Guild  of  Merchants  to  com- 
mence the  third  pair  of  gates,  he  was  not  free  to  choose 
his  own  subjects.  Here  is  an  extract  from  the  letter  of 
Leonardo  Bruni  d’Arezzo,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Republic, 
who  actually  drew  up  the  general  scheme.  After  detailing 
the  subjects  he  added  : 

“ It  is  necessary  that  he  who  has  to  design  them  should 
be  well  instructed  in  every  story,  so  that  he  may  dispose 
the  characters  and  scenes  to  the  best  effect.  I have  no 
doubt  that  the  work  as  I have  designed  it  will  succeed  well, 
but  I should  like  to  be  near  the  artist  that  I may  interpret 
to  him  the  many  meanings  of  the  scenes.” 

It  was  no  small  task  which  the  good  Chancellor  set 
Ghiberti.  Imagine  the  feelings  of  a Twentieth-Century 
sculptor  suddenly  faced  with  a demand  to  give  expression 
to  the  following  subjects  in  ten  panels,  within  the  limits  set 
by  a single  door : 


234 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE 


I. 

Creation  of  Adam. 

Creation  of  Eve. 

Temptation. 

Expulsion  from  Eden. 

II. 

Adam,  Eve,  and  children. 

The  two  sacrifices. 

Death  of  Abel. 

Curse  of  Cain. 

III. 

Noah  leaving  Ark. 

Noah’s  sacrifice. 

Noah’s  drunkenness. 

IV. 

Abraham  and  the  Angels. 

The  sacrifice  of  Isaac. 

V. 

Isaac. 

Esau  hunting. 

The  blessing  of  Jacob. 

VI. 

Sale  of  Joseph. 

Pharaoh’s  dream. 

Joseph’s  brethren  in  Egypt. 

VII. 

Moses  on  Sinai. 

VIII. 

Joshua  marching  round  Jericho. 
The  Fall  of  Jericho. 


THE  BAPTISTERY  DOORS,  FLORENCE  235 

IX. 

David  and  Goliath. 

Defeat  of  Philistines. 

X. 

Queen  of  Sheba  at  Solomon’s  Court. 

Yet  Ghiberti’s  ingenuity  was  sufficient  not  only  to  make 
the  designs  but  to  overcome  the  immense  technical  diffi- 
culties incidental  to  carrying  them  out  in  bronze.  Truth 
to  tell,  the  commission  should  never  have  been  given  to  a 
sculptor.  In  addition  to  the  difficulties  connected  with  his 
own  art,  Ghiberti  was  faced  with  the  necessity  of  adding 
architectural  and  landscape  backgrounds  to  his  reliefs.  He 
strove  to  solve  problems  of  perspective  which  even  the 
painters  of  his  day  had  not  mastered.  Indeed,  for  the  de- 
signer of  the  Baptistery  gates,  sculptural  relief  was  rather  a 
branch  of  the  graphic  arts,  governed  by  the  rules  and  sub- 
ject to  the  limitations  of  sculpture.  Ghiberti’s  life’s  work 
landed  his  art  in  a blind  alley.  For  further  progress  it  was 
necessary  that  sculpture  should  be  once  more  informed  with 
its  own  definite  spirit.  Ghiberti,  or  rather  his  patrons,  had 
failed  to  realize  that  sculpture  as  a descriptive  medium  has 
its  limitations.  It  cannot  hope  to  rival  painting  in  the 
multiplicity  of  subjects  which  it  can  depict  with  success. 
It  must,  therefore,  confine  itself  to  subjects  which  it  can 
express  clearly  and  vigorously. 


ST.  GEORGE 

( Donatello , 1383-1466 ) 

ALFRED  GOTTHOLD  MEYER 


HE  first-born  among  the  great  masters  of  Italy  was  a 


sculptor : Niccolo  Pisano  lived  a generation  before 


In  the  Fifteenth  Century,  too,  Italian  art  again  first  at- 
tains to  its  full  development  in  sculpture.  In  painting  it 
commences  with  Masaccio’s  frescoes  in  the  Brancacci 
Chapel  in  Florence,  but  Donatello  was  the  centre  of  the 
new  race  that  now  appears  in  Florentine  art. 

His  statue  of  St.  George  stands  at  the  gates  of  the  early 
Renaissance.  This  youthful  hero  is  such  an  advance 
towards  artistic  freedom  that  the  entire  world  of  Florentine 
art  at  that  period  is  suddenly  relegated  to  the  past.  With 
freshness  and  strength  he  materializes  the  most  absolute 
balance  of  forces  : a first  act  of  deliverance. 

Heroical,  like  this  St.  George,  Donatello  himself  enters 
the  arena  of  art.  He  breaks  the  fetters  of  medievalism  ; 
he  opens  a new  era.  But  he  does  not  linger  on  the  thresh- 
old. The  victor  becomes  conqueror.  He  measures  the 
whole  domain  of  his  art,  taking  in  and  harmonizing  the 
most  contradictory  ideas.  With  equal  right  Donatello  is 
referred  to  by  those  who  try  to  find  in  the  early  Renaissance 
a triumph  of  Northern  realism,  and  by  those  who  under- 


Giotto. 


ST.  GEORGE,  FLORENCE 
By  Donatello 


ST.  GEORGE 


237 


stand  it  as  the  first  manifestation  of  the  regenerated  antique. 
A Prometheus  of  his  time,  he  forms  human  beings  of  every 
type.  He  reflects  physical  life,  exuberant  with  muscular 
strength  and  hot  blood,  and  tottering  to  the  grave  in  its 
decrepitude.  He  listens  to  the  most  subtle  emotions  of  the 
soul,  and  follows  the  wildest  burst  of  passion.  He  pro- 
motes the  individual  in  its  quiet  “ existence  ” to  a char- 
acteristic type,  and  dissects  the  meteor-like  “ occurrence  ” 
into  personally  effective  forces.  His  fancy  gives  an  en- 
tirely new  value  to  every  task.  Sometimes  he  borders  on 
absurdity  in  his  one-sidedness,  sometimes  he  employs 
simultaneously  all  the  means  of  artistic  effect.  The  har- 
mony of  his  work  melts  as  in  a fiery  glow,  and  his  person- 
ality— clearly  outlined  at  first — grows  demon-like  into 
gigantic  proportions  out  of  the  sturdy  workshop-tradition 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

One  can  understand  that  criticism  followed  him  but  with 
a painful  gait.  The  late  Renaissance  still  admired  Dona- 
tello. Raphael  paid  him  the  greatest  homage  with  which  a 
master  can  honour  his  precursor  : he  learnt  from  him,  he 
took  from  him  figures  and  groups  and  breathed  a higher  life 
into  them.  Michelangelo,  through  his  own  work,  professed 
himself  his  follower.  Surely  Vasari  spoke  the  mind  of 
these  two,  when  he  praised  Donatello  as  the  first  sculptor 
since  the  days  of  antiquity.  But  then  his  image  begins  to 
fade.  In  the  Seventeenth  Century,  we  hear  but  little  about 
him;  in  the  Eighteenth,  almost  nothing.  Cicognara,  the 
first  historian  of  Italian  sculpture,  resents  that  Donatello  is 


238 


ST.  GEORGE 


not  nearly  as  highly  esteemed  as  he  deserves.  He  has  re- 
instated him  in  his  right  place,  but  he  sees  only  an  aberra- 
tion in  his  realism,  and  excuses  it  in  these  terms : “ If 
Donatello  had  already  achieved  everything,  what  would 
have  remained  for — Canova  ? ” Not  much  later  Ruhmor 
wrote  that  Donatello’s  u spirit  is  as  poor  as  it  is  crude.” 

At  that  period  “ spirit  ” stood  for  the  “spiritual”; — a 
generation  later  a new  art  taught  that  it  is  the  individually 
conceived  element  of  “ life  ” : that  force  which  seizes 
nature  in  a powerful  grasp  and  places  it  before  us  in  full 
freedom.  Thus  Manet  became  the  leader  of  modern  paint- 
ing, and  Rembrandt  and  Velasquez  were  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  great  masters  of  the  past. 

It  was  then  that  Donatello  came  into  his  own  again. 
The  celebration  of  his  fifth  centenary  became  his  red  letter 
day  in  the  history  of  art.  The  work  of  his  life,  which 
Florence  then  saw  in  rare  completeness,  came  as  a revela- 
tion. The  impression  was  that  Donatello  had  not  been 
properly  recognized  before.  For  the  future  the  largest  hall 
of  the  Museo  Nazionale  in  Florence  was  to  be  consecrated 
to  him, — a greater  homage  than  has  hitherto  been  paid  to 
any  one  among  the  masters  of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy. 

This  enthusiasm  is  still  alive  to-day,  and  international 
effort  has  endeavoured  to  give  it  a scientific  basis.  His 
latest  biographer  calls  Donatello  “ il  maestro  di  chi  sanno ,” 
the  master  of  those  who  know. 

Donatello  was  born  in  Florence,  probably  in  1386.  His 
Christian  name  is  Donato.  His  father  Niccolo  di  Betto 


ST.  GEORGE 


239 


Bardi  was  domiciled  near  the  present  Porta  Romana  in  the 
quarter  of  S.  Pietro  in  Gattolino.  We  know  no  more 
about  his  life  than  about  the  youth  of  his  famous  son. 
The  first  documentary  reference  to  his  son  Donatello 
occurs  in  1406,  when  he  receives  payment  as  independent 
sculptor.  Accounts  of  his  earlier  life  can  only  be  gathered 
from  indirect  and  not  always  reliable  sources.  Some  doubt 
is  already  attached  to  Vasari’s  statement  that  Donatello  was 
educated  in  the  house  of  the  Martelli,  since  this  family  be- 
longed to  the  faction  against  which  his  father  had  fought. 
In  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  time,  he  received  his 
first  instruction  in  the  goldsmith’s  workshop,  which  was  the 
training-school  for  the  “ Arte  del  disegno ,”  the  fine  arts  in 
all  their  forms  and  techniques. 

It  was,  doubtless,  his  statues  for  Or  San  Michele  that 
made  Donatello’s  name  popular.  The  plan  of  decorating 
each  outer  pilaster  of  this  building  with  one  of  the  patron 
saints  of  the  Florentine  guilds,  a plan  that  was  of  the 
greatest  importance  for  the  history  of  Florentine  plastic  art, 
had  at  first  been  but  slowly  realized.  Within  nearly 
seventy  years  (1339-1406)  only  four  marble  statues  had 
been  erected,  when  the  Signory  issued  an  urgent  warning  to 
the  backward  guilds,  and  now  the  niches  filled  rapidly. 
Perhaps  Donatello  participated  already  as  assistant  in  the 
St.  Philip  (1408)  and  the  Four  Saints  by  Nanni  di  Banco. 
The  St.  Peter  statue  of  the  butcher’s  guild  is  considered 
his  own  first  work  for  Or  San  Michele,  but  the  entirely  in- 
dependent impress  of  his  art  first  appears  in  his  St.  Mark 


240 


ST.  GEORGE 


completed  in  1412.  In  the  following  years  (about  1415) 
he  created  for  the  armourers  ( corazzai ) his  first  famous 
masterpiece— the  St.  George,  and  probably  at  the  same  time 
the  predella  for  its  niche— the  relief  of  The  Fight  with  the 
Dragon.  For  the  sake  of  better  protection  the  St.  George 
was,  in  1886,  removed  to  the  National  Museum,  a copy 
being  placed  in  the  niche  of  Or  San  Michele. 

The  statuettes  of  Prophets  for  the  cathedral  porch,  the 
David  at  the  Bargello,  the  St.  John  in  the  Duomo,  the 
St.  Mark  and  the  St.  George  for  Or  San  Michele  represent 
the  first  group  of  Donatello’s  authenticated  works  of  known 
date. 

All  of  them  are  single  figures.  They  placed  the  young 
sculptor  immediately  face  to  face  with  the  problems  of 
statuesque  art.  The  trecento  treated  the  forms  of  the  body 
only  summarily.  It  was  not  often  called  upon  to  mould 
the  naked  human  body ; in  the  clothed  body  it  only  beheld 
heavy,  or  ct  gothically  ” broken  masses  of  folds.  The 
artistic  perception  of  the  functions  of  the  limbs  remained 
dim,  more  especially  in  plastic  art.  Trecento  sculpture,  in 
contrast  to  Hellenic  art,  proceeded  from  the  relief,  not  from 
the  statuesque  single  figure  which  retained  longest  of  all  the 
fetters  of  Medievalism.  Even  the  Pisani  lacked  the  feel- 
ing for  correct  proportions : their  statues  show  mighty 
heads  placed  upon  dwarfish,  short  bodies.  And  when  this 
disproportion  gradually  disappeared,  the  statues  still  retained 
the  lack  of  organic  connection  in  the  whole  construction 
of  the  body,  partly  caused  by  the  concern  about  static 


ST.  GEORGE 


241 


stability.  Nobody  dared  freely  to  detach  the  limbs  of  a 
marble  figure,  and  again  the  drapery  had  to  serve  as  a 
makeshift.  The  folds  touch  the  ground  in  broad  masses ; 
the  figures  certainly  appear  firm  in  the  static  sense,  but  they 
do  not  “ stand  ” like  living  people.  Even  at  the  very  end 
of  the  trecento  when  Andrea  Pisano’s  reliefs  had  already 
adorned  the  Florence  Baptistery  for  a generation,  the 
Gothic  folds  of  the  statues  flow  over  the  body  so  com- 
pletely that  its  chief  structural  forms  do  not  tell.  It  is 
true  when  Donatello  commenced  to  work,  Florentine 
sculpture  had  already  embarked  in  a new  direction. 

This  direction  was  pointed  out  by  the  antique,  and  its 
first  decided  follower  was  Nanni  di  Banco.  His  four  statues 
in  the  niche  of  the  stone-cutters  and  carpenters  at  Or  San 
Michele  have  the  deportment  of,  and  stand  like,  good  an- 
cient Roman-draped  figures.  But  only  just  like  draped 
figures.  Drapery  is  as  yet  more  important  than  the  body. 

Vasari  relates  that  these  statues  of  saints  by  Nanni  would 
not  fit  into  their  niche,  and  that  they  had  to  be  cut  into 
shape  by  Donatello.  This  sounds  very  improbable,  for 
Nanni  di  Banco  was  certainly  at  that  time  a more  expe- 
rienced sculptor  than  young  Donatello.  But  this  anecdote 
points  already  to  a talent  which  above  all  procured  Dona- 
tello his  first  successes  as  a maker  of  statues  : his  considera- 
tion of  the  position. 

His  own  statue  of  St.  Mark  pleased  so  little  in  his  work- 
shop that  it  was  only  reluctantly  accepted,  but  in  its  niche 
at  Or  San  Michele  it  immediately  produced  an  unsurpassa- 


242 


ST.  GEORGE 


ble  effect.  This  side  of  Donatello’s  art  has  been  laid  stress 
upon  again  and  again,  and  with  good  reason,  for  this  pleas- 
ing quality  covers  a main  secret  of  his  whole  power;  the 
great  master’s  gift  of  seeing  his  work  at  any  moment  in  its 
entirety,  as  a complete  whole.  But  in  the  case  of  a single 
figure,  this  signifies  at  the  same  time  the  correct  perception 
and  expression  of  the  plastic  function  of  the  limbs,  within 
this  entirety.  This  is  the  great  discovery  which  already 
makes  the  young  Donatello  of  Or  San  Michele  superior  as 
statuarist  to  all  his  fellow-workers. 

The  warlike  patron  saint  of  the  armourers  could  not  be 
enveloped  in  flowing  folds  but  in  a suit  of  armour  which 
should  cling  to  the  forms  as  protectingly  and  yet  as  pli- 
antly,  as  their  customers  might  expect  from  a masterpiece 
of  the  craft.  They  felt  proud  of  their  work,  if  the  mova- 
ble steel  plates  clung  firmly  to  the  body  and  if  the  greaves 
w fitted  like  a glove.”  A well-worked  coat-of-mail,  with 
its  practical  division  between  the  parts  which  have  only  to 
act  as  support,  and  those  which  can  be  freely  moved  is  in 
itself  a work  of  plastic  art.  The  sculptors  in  all  the  great 
periods  of  plastic  art,  from  Aristocles,  the  ancient  Greek 
stone-cutter  and  master  of  the  Aristion  stele,  down  to  the 
creators  of  the  Colleoni  monument  in  Venice  and  the  Great 
Elector  in  Berlin, — they  all  knew  how  to  utilize  its  power 
of  hardening  and  steeling  the  limbs. 

So  did  Donatello.  It  is  true,  even  here  he  would  not 
entirely  abandon  the  cloak  over  the  shoulder,  but  he  only 
uses  it  as  a welcome  contrast  to  the  armour.  His  precursors, 


ST.  GEORGE 


243 


following  the  example  of  the  Pisani,  beheld  in  armour  but 
a basis  for  rich  ornamentation.  To  Donatello  it  serves  as 
another  means  for  stiffening  and  strengthening  the  forms 
and  organically  shaping  the  silhouettes. 

But  the  question  was  not  alone  that  of  producing  an 
armed  warrior,  but  a youthful  hero ; not  a boy,  like  David, 
whose  strength  is  only  due  to  divine  help,  but  a full-blown 
youth,  muscular  and  sinewy  like  the  champion  of  the  Greek 
palastra.  For  the  sculptor  who  was  about  to  discover  the 
most  effective  statuesque  aspect  of  the  human  body,  this 
must  have  been  a similar  task,  as  Polycletus  in  the  past 
found  in  his  athletes.  He  was  now  free  to  materialize  his 
ideal  of  plastic  beauty.  And  his  living  model  was  splendid 
indeed  : strong,  elastic,  and  pleasing  to  behold,  if  one  ex- 
cepts the  excessively  large  w heavy  ” hands.  Compare  the 
shoulder,  neck  and  head,  with  the  obtrusive  weightiness  of 
the  Doryphoros,  and  then  again  with  the  sinewy  slenderness 
of  the  Apoxyomenos.  But  models  thus  favoured  are  not  rare 
— whilst  the  St.  George  is  unique  ! Once  more  the  artistic 
power  which  achieved  this  result  rests  upon  the  solving  of 
the  statuesque  problem  : the  most  masterly  feature  of  this 
masterpiece  is  still  the  attitude. 

Vasari,  better  than  Francesco  Bocchi  in  his  long-winded 
panegyric,  has  described  the  magic  spell  of  this  figure : 
M His  attitude  gives  evidence  of  a proud  and  terrible  im- 
petuosity . . . and  life  seems  to  move  within  that 

stone.” 

The  historically  trained  eye  of  the  present  day  may  in- 


244 


ST.  GEORGE 


deed  find  another  reading.  It  beholds  this  youthful  cham- 
pion at  the  parting  of  two  ages.  The  Mediaeval  ideal  of 
chivalry  radiates  as  yet  from  him — something  of  that  noblest 
inner  strength  that  sometimes  flashed  forth  in  the  Crusades. 
But  this  hero  watches  at  the  same  time  at  the  threshold  of  a 
new  era  with  unknown  joys  and  perils. 

But  in  this  case,  as  with  every  great  work  of  art,  the  ap- 
preciation of  its  purely  formal  value  is  alone  sufficient. 
How  much  the  creator  of  this  statue  had  learnt  since  his 
first  attempts  at  statuary, — the  little  figures  of  the  cathedral- 
door  ! It  may  be  well  said  that  this  St.  George  avoids  all 
the  faults  of  his  precursors,  uniting  all  their  separate  quali- 
ties : the  compactness  and  weightiness  of  St.  Mark  and  St. 
John  and  the  varied  movement  of  David ; the  greatest 
wealth  of  form,  tempered  by  admirable  restraint ; fascinating 
charm,  natural  freshness  and  a simplicity  that  is  most  sur- 
prising of  all.  The  whole  conception  touches  the  border- 
land, where  the  “ pose  ” commences.  Remember  how 
pufFed-up  and  obtrusive  such  an  attitude  with  parted  legs 
appears  in  Andrea  del  Castagno’s  portrait  of  Pippo  Spano ! 
No  trace  of  it  with  the  St.  George  ! He  carries  the  dignity 
of  genuine  art  that  only  works  for  its  own  satisfaction,  and 
this  is  just  what  makes  this  statue  a masterpiece  which  has 
never  been  surpassed, — not  even  by  its  own  creator.  Don- 
atello’s statuesque  art  has  here  reached  its  zenith.  With  the 
completion  of  this  first  series  of  figures,  he  achieves  a revo- 
lutionary deed  which  places  his  art  on  a new  foundation: 
the  plastic  renascence  of  man  in  his  completeness . 


ST.  GEORGE 


245 


The  fine  arts  of  the  Greeks  considered  body  and  head 
of  equal  importance.  That  was  in  keeping  with  their 
civilization  and  disappeared  with  it,  and  even  more  so  in 
Roman  art,  this  balance  became  shaky  ; the  Christian 
Middle  Ages  had  destroyed  it  completely,  and  neither  the 
Pisani  nor  the  later  trecentists  were  able  to  recover  it. 
Even  Ghiberti  had  only  approached  it  now  and  then,  as  it 
were,  by  chance ; Quercia  had  done  so  with  far  more 
energy,  without  however  mastering  it  as  completely  as 
Donatello  did  in  his  St,  George.  Since  classic  days  no 
human  image  had  been  created  so  entirely  “ in  one  piece.” 

Was  Donatello  himself  conscious  of  the  fact  that,  by 
doing  so,  he  was  almost  directly  continuing  the  work  of 
antique  plastics  ? — To  strive  after  this  was  certainly  in 
accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  time,  and  the  ardent 
desire  of  becoming  once  again  the  peer  of  the  classics  could 
only  take  one  shape  in  the  case  of  a great  sculptor  of  sure 
aim  : the  conception  of  organic  life  in  the  completeness  of 
its  appearance.  That  inner  connection  really  exists  be- 
tween these  early  works  of  Donatello’s  and  the  ideal  of 
antique  plastic  art  is  most  clearly  evinced  by  the  heads  of 
these  statues.  For  they  prove  that  Donatello,  notwith- 
standing his  enthusiasm  for  the  “animation  ” of  the  acci- 
dental model,  was,  in  its  selection  and  rendering,  always 
concerned  with  the  beauty  of  youth  and  manhood ; and 
through  it  all  gleams,  sometimes  more  and  sometimes  less, 
an  antique  type  of  ideal. 

The  “glance”  of  the  St.  George  has  become  famous. 


246 


ST.  GEORGE 


The  pupils  are  now  wide  and  sharply  outlined,  the  brows 
horizontally  contracted,  but  at  the  same  time  raised,  so  that 
deep  furrows  appear  on  the  forehead,  and  a slight  bump 
over  the  root  of  the  rose.  “ Full  of  expectant  boldness,” 
Hermann  Grimm  characterizes  the  frame  of  mind  ; “ full 
of  life  ” is  the  general  praise  with  which  Donatello  would 
probably  have  contented  himself.  But  his  greatest  reward 
would  have  been  the  fame  which  is  really  his  due  for  this 
heroic  head,  that,  as  Vasari  naively  says,  it  resembles  u the 
admirable  works  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  more 
closely  than  those  of  any  other  master  had  done.” 


CHILD  MUSICIANS  : BAS-RELIEFS 

( Luca  della  Robbia , 1399-14.82) 

JACOPO  CAVALUCCI  AND  EMILE  MOLINIER 

BY  the  side  of  the  three  greatest  sculptors  of  the  first 
half  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  Lorenzo  Ghiberti, 
Donatello  and  Jacopo  della  Quercia,  another  artist  deserves 
a place  to  himself ; this  artist  is  Luca  della  Robbia.  With- 
out possessing  either  their  originality  or  their  lofty  con- 
ception, Luca  managed  to  gain  a reputation  which  he  will 
keep.  The  head  of  a family  of  artists  who  lasted  almost 
till  the  end  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  carrying  on  his  work, 
he  succeeded,  while  still  remaining  a realist,  in  stamping 
his  sculptures  with  so  profound  a feeling  of  grace  and 
simplicity  that  very  few  artists  of  the  early  Renaissance  so 
closely  approached  the  Classic  style.  His  works  in  glazed 
terra-cotta  contributed  not  a little  to  his  popularity;  but  he 
does  not  appear  in  them  in  completeness ; but  much  rather 
in  those  admirable  bas-reliefs  that  he  executed  for  the  organ 
loft  of  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore, — still  young,  but  already  in 
the  maturity  of  his  talents — must  we  seek  the  true  char- 
acter of  Luca’s  work.  Nevertheless,  it  is  his  sculpture  in 
marble  and  bronze  that  is  least  known,  and  this  fact  is 
readily  explained,  for  his  successors  produced  scarcely  any- 
thing except  in  glazed  terra-cotta,  and  so  the  work  of  the 


248 


CHILD  MUSICIANS:  BAS-RELIEFS 


head  of  the  school  was,  so  to  speak,  swamped  in  the 
immense  mass  of  their  productions. 

Others  have  already  done  due  justice  to  Della  Robbia : 
M.  Barbet  de  Jouy  and  Dr.  Bode  have  given  us  excellent 
monographs  ; but  the  one  that  seems  so  far  to  have  best 
understood  the  scope  of  Luca  and  his  successors  is  the 
Marquis  de  Laborde,  who  has  traced  a portrait  of  the  elder 
Luca  from  which  there  is  nothing  to  withdraw  : 

u Luca  della  Robbia  was  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century  a sculptor  of  the  first  order  in  Florence. 
The  search  for  the  beautiful  by  close  study  of  the  antique, 
by  persevering  imitation  of  Nature,  by  purity  of  form, 
truthfulness  of  expression,  graceful  ingenuity  of  pose,  all 
these  delicate  programmes  of  sculpture  were  seriously 
undertaken  by  Luca ; and  side  by  side  with  the  glory  of 
Ghiberti,  in  competition  with  Donatello,  he  had  to  make 
the  merits  of  his  productions  shine  in  Florence  itself,  in 
Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  whether  by  his  chorus  of  singers, 
a marvel  of  nature,  or  by  his  religious  compositions,  which 
were  models  of  Christian  sentiment.  In  reaching  this 
height,  he  had  done  nothing  but  keep  step  with  the  throng 
of  artists  who,  from  the  beginning  of  the  Fifteenth 
Century,  were  marching  frankly  and  freely  along  the  way 
opened  to  all  by  Niccolo  de  Pisa.  For  Luca  more  than 
this  was  needed,  for  he  believed  that  his  genius  was  ca- 
pable of  expressing  more.  Worried  with  the  slow  work 
and  the  monotonous  white  of  the  marble,  he  sought  a new, 
or  at  least  an  abandoned  mine,  and  found  an  unexplored 


CHILD  MUSICIANS,  OPERA  DEL  DUOMO,  FLORENCE 
By  L.  della  Robbia 


CHILD  MUSICIANS  : BAS-RELIEFS 


249 


vein,  richer  than  any  other.  He  exploited  it  alone.  Had 
he  already  seen  the  coloured  terra-cottas  of  the  ancients 
which  have  been  discovered  for  us  by  modern  excavations  ? 
Or  had  he,  a belated  traveller,  been  led  alone  by  the  feeling 
of  art  along  the  road  followed  by  the  great  artists  of 
antiquity  ? Nobody  knows  ; but  whatever  may  have  been 
the  first  spring  of  this  ingenious  development  of  sculpture, 
nothing  is  more  interesting  in  the  history  of  art  than  the 
coming  of  this  man  who  invents  alone  and  works  as  a 
family  a process  which  is  a whole  art  and  which  remained 
the  monopoly  of  the  Della  Robbias  for  two  centuries. 

Was  Luca  really  the  inventor  in  the  exact  meaning  of 
the  word  of  the  processes  of  enamel  on  terra-cotta?  The 
Marquis  de  Laborde  did  not  think  so : nor  do  we. 

Luca  di  Simone  di  Marco  della  Robbia  was  born  in  Flor- 
ence in  1399  or  1400.  uHe  was  carefully  brought  up  till 
he  had  learned  not  only  to  read  and  write,  but  to  calculate, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  Florentines,  so  far  as  might 
be  necessary  for  him.  His  father  then  made  him  learn  the 
goldsmith’s  craft  under  Leonardo  di  ser  Giovanni,  regarded 
as  the  best  master  of  that  art  in  Florence.  Having  learned 
from  him  to  design  and  model  in  wax,  and  becoming  more 
ambitious,  Luca  began  to  produce  some  works  in  marble 
and  bronze;  and,  succeeding  with  them,  he  immediately 
abandoned  gold-work  and  devoted  himself  to  sculpture  so 
intently  that  he  could  do  nothing  but  cut  marble  during  the 
day,  and  design  at  night.”  1 


1 Vasari. 


250  CHILD  MUSICIANS:  BAS-RELIEFS 

There  are  few  of  Luca’s  works  of  which  we  have  posi- 
tive evidence.  Perhaps  some  might  be  found  among  the 
bas-reliefs  or  statues  that  adorn  the  exterior  of  the  Floren- 
tine Cathedral,  and  which  have  not  been  closely  studied 
hitherto.  There  would  be  some  chance  of  finding  there 
some  of  the  works  of  Luca’s  youth  which  would  doubtless 
enable  us  to  determine  under  what  master  he  studied,  and 
what  works  chiefly  affected  his  imagination  as  an  artist. 
For,  hitherto,  sometimes  people  have  recognized  the  influ- 
ence of  Donatello  upon  him,  and  sometimes  an  evident  im- 
itation of  Ghiberti.  This,  however,  is  never  a servile  im- 
itation ; Luca  has  put  too  much  of  himself  into  his  works 
for  one  to  decide  which  of  those  great  artists  he  preferred. 
He  seems  to  have  been  throughout  his  life  a very  laborious 
artist,  of  a tranquil  nature  exempt  from  those  little  failings 
which  we  are  willing  to  overlook  in  artists — jealousy,  envy, 
or  egotism.  He  never  married,  and  devoted  himself  en- 
tirely to  the  education  of  his  relatives,  and  especially  to  the 
artistic  instruction  of  his  nephew  Andrea.  We  may  be 
sure  that  this  peaceful,  almost  austere  life,  had  a powerful 
influence  on  the  master’s  work,  and  that  if  the  sculptures 
of  Luca  show  a certain  calmness  of  bearing,  and  a serenity 
and  nobility  of  expression,  they  only  reflect  the  state  of  his 
soul. 

As  we  have  said,  the  first  work  confided  to  Luca  by  the 
administrators  of  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore  was  the  decoration 
of  the  organ  loft.  Begun  in  1431,  it  was  not  finished  till 
about  144.0.  Vasari,  who  wrongly  dates  this  monument 


CHILD  MUSICIANS  : BAS-RELIEFS 


251 


1405,  thus  describes  the  masterpiece  of  the  founder  of  the 
Della  Robbia  dynasty : 

M In  various  compartments  on  the  base  of  this  monu- 
ment, Luca  made  the  choirs  of  music  singing  in  different 
ways;  and  he  put  into  them  so  much  talent  and  was  so 
successful  that  though  they  are  at  a height  of  sixteen  brasses 
(thirty  feet)  one  can  see  the  swelling  of  the  throats  of  the 
singers,  the  clapping  of  the  hands  of  those  who  are  reading 
the  music  over  the  shoulders  of  the  singers  who  are  smaller 
than  themselves,  and  finally,  the  diverse  ways  of  playing, 
dancing,  singing,  and  all  other  movements  that  are  inspired 
by  music.”  1 

It  was  in  1433  that  the  bas-reliefs  for  the  second  tribune 
were  ordered  from  Donatello;  in  1434  Luca  competed 
with  him  in  a clay  model  of  a colossal  head  destined  to  be 
placed  over  the  opening  of  the  cupola  of  the  Duomo.  We 
do  not  know  tho  issue  of  this  competition,  nor  whether 
Luca  really  modelled  the  head  in  question.  In  fact,  that  does 
not  matter ; what  is  important  is  that  at  that  time  and  after- 
wards Luca  was  in  constant  competition  with  Donatello. 

The  ten  bas-reliefs  sculptured  by  Luca  were  long  kept 
in  the  collections  of  the  Uffizi  museum  ; they  were  re- 
moved to  the  Museo  Nazionale,  or  Bargello.2 

1 The  bas-reliefs  were  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  thirty-five  gold  florins  for 
the  small  ones  and  sixty  for  the  large.  This  price  was  afterwards  raised 
to  seventy  florins  for  the  second,  and  proportionately  for  the  first.  The 
gold  florin  in  the  Fifteenth  Century  was  equal  to  ten  francs.  To-day,  it 
would  represent  four  or  five  times  that  sum  ; — forty-five  to  fifty  francs. 

2 The  South  Keiisington  Museum  in  London  possesses  the  original  de* 


252 


CHILD  MUSICIANS  ; BAS-RELIEFS 


We  cannot  help  feeling  that  Luca  succeeded  in  being  quite 
as  much  a realist  as  Donatello,  at  the  same  time  remaining 
more  amiable.  To  the  fury  of  the  latter,  which  sometimes 
is  carried  beyond  all  measure,  we  prefer  the  suppleness  of 
the  former.  In  the  variety  of  the  conception,  the  harmoni- 
ous distribution  of  the  groups  of  singers  and  dancers,  he 
also  shows  his  superiority  ; there  are  some  pieces  here  that 
would  not  be  disavowed  by  antique  sculpture.  The  ex- 
pressions and  the  movements,  while  being  quite  as  varied 
as  in  Donatello’s  work,  seem  to  us  more  true.  Intended 
for  the  decoration  of  a church,  we  think  that  Luca  formed 
a more  exact  idea  of  what  these  bas-reliefs  should  be  ; his 
choirs  possess  truly  something  of  the  divine  and  the 
celestial,  and  surely  they  are  more  Christian  in  character 
than  the  bacchic  attitudes  of  Donatello’s  dancers. 

When  Luca  executed  these  bas-reliefs,  he  had  veritably 
reached  the  apogee  of  his  talent.  He  possessed  all  the 
qualities  of  a great  sculptor  : clarity  of  conception,  profound 
knowledge  of  design  and  extraordinary  manual  dexterity. 
It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  go  any  higher.  If  we  pos- 
sessed nothing  by  him  but  these  ten  bas-reliefs,  they  would 
suffice  to  place  him  among  the  number  of  the  great  artists 
of  the  Renaissance. 

That  is  certainly  a great  merit ; but  we  think  it  is 

sign  of  one  of  Luca’s  groups  ; this  is  the  piece  that  formed  the  centre  of 
the  balustrade,  and  represents  children  playing  the  trumpet.  Certain 
differences  between  the  marble  and  the  terra-cotta  seem  satisfactory  proof 
that  this  is  really  Luca’s  original  sketch. 

They  are  now  in  the  Opere  del  Duomo. — E.  S. 


CHILD  MUSICIANS  : BAS-RELIEFS 


253 


going  too  far  to  assert  that  Luca  della  Robbia,  entirely 
subject  to  the  mystic  tendencies  of  the  school  of  Ghiberti, 
was  very  rarely  affected  by  the  influence  of  the  naturalistic 
school  of  which  Donatello  was  the  most  glorious  repre- 
sentative. Rio,  who  showed  himself  the  warmest  defender 
of  the  mysticism  in  the  Italian  art  of  the  Renaissance, 
loudly  claims  for  Luca  the  merit  of  having  reacted  against 
naturalism.  “ The  glory  of  having  kept  sculpture  on  that 
course  so  opposed  to  contemporary  prejudice,”  he  says, 
“ is  shared  by  three  men  who  were  already  old  when 
Donatello  died,  but  who  survived  him  long  enough  to 
change  the  direction  which  he  had  stamped  upon  his  art, 
particularly  in  the  last  years  of  his  long  career.  These 
three  bold  reactionaries,  all  three  born  in  the  beginning  of 
the  Fifteenth  Century,  were  Luca  della  Robbia,  Desiderio 
da  Settignano  and  Mino  da  Fiesole.”  That  is  possible  ; 
but  is  it  not  going  far  to  say  that  the  study  of  the  marbles 
gathered  in  the  gardens  of  the  Medici  “ ended  by  occupying 
only  a secondary  place  in  the  education  of  the  most  popular 
artists  ” ? Are  not  the  bas-reliefs  of  the  organ  loft  carved 
by  Luca  there  to  give  a striking  denial  to  such  a thesis? 
Is  it  possible  not  to  recognize  in  this  admirable  production 
the  influence  which  the  masterpieces  of  ancient  art  must 
have  exercised  over  the  mind  of  our  artist  ? Luca’s 
naturalism  is  undoubtedly  more  tempered  than  that  of 
Donatello,  but  none  the  less  it  exists  in  his  capital  work. 
In  the  bas-reliefs  of  Giotto’s  Campanile,  Luca  shows  him- 
self no  less  a naturalist.  A little  later,  it  is  true,  when  he 


254  CHILD  MUSICIANS:  BAS-RELIEFS 

will  design  the  doors  of  the  sacristy  of  the  Duomo, 
Ghiberti’s  work  will  entirely  dominate  him.  In  all  Luca’s 
works,  not  only  on  his  sculptures  in  marble  or  bronze, 
but  also  in  his  terra-cottas,  two  contrary  influences  fight 
one  another  without  one  ever  succeeding  in  completely 
vanquishing  the  other;  and  the  education  that  Ghiberti  had 
perhaps  himself  given  to  our  sculptor  was  never  able  to 
efface  his  profound  admiration  for  Donatello. 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 

(. Andrea  del  Verrocchio , 1435-1488,  and  Alessandro  Leopardi , 
d.  1522 ) 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS 

Bartolommeo  colleoni  was  bom  in  1400. 

He  and  his  mother  lived  together  in  great 
indigence  until  the  lad  felt  strong  enough  to  enter  the 
service  of  one  of  the  petty  Lombard  princes  and  make 
himself  if  possible  a captain  of  adventure.  The  two  great 
Condottieri,  Sforza  Attendolo  and  Braccio  divided  the 
military  glories  of  Italy  at  this  period ; and  any  youth  who 
sought  to  rise  in  his  profession  had  to  enroll  himself  under 
the  banners  of  one  or  the  other.  Bartolommeo  chose  Braccio 
for  his  master  and  was  enrolled  as  a simple  trooper,  with 
no  better  prospects  than  he  could  make  for  himself  by  the 
help  of  his  talents  and  his  borrowed  horse  and  armour. 
On  which  side  of  a quarrel  a Condottiere  fought  mattered 
but  little : so  great  was  the  confusion  of  Italian  politics. 
Bartolommeo  Colleoni  early  distinguished  himself  among 
the  ranks  of  the  Bracceschi.  But  he  soon  perceived  that 
he  could  better  his  position  by  deserting  to  another  camp. 
Accordingly  he  offered  his  services  to  Jacopo  Caldora,  and 
received  from  him  a commission  of  twenty  men-at-arms. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  follow  Colleoni’s  fortunes  in  the 
Regno,  at  Aquila,  Ancona  and  Bologna.  He  continued  in 


256 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 


the  service  of  Caldora,  who  was  now  General  of  the 
Church,  and  had  his  Condotta  gradually  increased. 

At  the  conclusion  of  a peace  between  the  Pope  and  the 
Bolognese,  Bartolommeo  found  himself  without  occupation. 
He  now  offered  himself  to  the  Venetians  and  began  to  fight 
again  under  the  great  Carmagnola  against  Filippo  Visconti. 
His  engagement  allowed  him  forty  men,  which,  after  the 
judicial  murder  of  Carmagnola  at  Venice  in  1432,  were  in- 
creased to  eighty.  Gattamelata  was  now  his  general-in- 
chief,— a man  who  had  risen  from  the  lowest  fortunes  to 
one  of  the  most  splendid  military  positions  in  Italy.  Col- 
leoni  spent  the  next  years  of  his  life,  until  1443,  in  Lom- 
bardy, gradually  rising  in  the  Venetian  service,  until  his 
Condotta  reached  the  number  of  800  men.  Upon  Gat- 
tamelata’s  death  at  Padua  in  1440,  Colleoni  became  the 
most  important  of  the  generals  who  had  fought  with  Cal- 
dora in  the  March.  The  lordships  of  Romano  in  the  Ber- 
gamasque  and  of  Covo  and  Antegnate  in  the  Cremonese 
had  been  assigned  to  him, — and  he  was  in  a position  to 
make  independent  engagements  with  princes.  What  dis- 
tinguished him  as  a general  was  a combination  of  caution 
with  audacity.  He  was  a captain  who  could  be  relied  upon 
for  boldly  seizing  an  advantage,  no  less  than  for  using  a 
success  with  discretion.  Moreover  he  had  acquired  an  al- 
most unique  reputation  for  honesty  in  dealing  with  his  mas- 
ters, and  for  justice  combined  with  humane  indulgence  to 
his  men.  His  company  was  popular,  and  he  could  always 
bring  capital  troops  into  the  field. 


STATUE  OF  BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI,  VENICE 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 


257 


In  the  year  1443,  Colleoni  quitted  the  Venetian  service 
on  account  of  a quarrel  with  Gherardo  Dandolo,  the  Proved- 
itore  of  the  Republic.  He  now  took  a commission  from 
Filippo  Maria  Visconti,  who  received  him  at  Milan  with 
great  honour,  bestowed  on  him  the  Castello  Adorno  at 
Pavia,  and  sent  him  into  the  March  of  Ancona  upon  a mili- 
tary expedition.  Of  all  Italian  tyrants  this  Visconti  was 
the  most  difficult  to  serve.  While  Colleoni  was  engaged 
in  pacifying  the  revolted  population  of  Bologna,  the  Duke 
yielded  to  the  suggestion  of  his  parasites  at  Milan,  who 
whispered  that  the  general  was  becoming  dangerously  pow- 
erful. He  recalled  him,  and  threw  him  without  trial  into 
the  dungeons  of  the  Forni  at  Monza.  Here  Colleoni  re- 
mained a prisoner  more  than  a year,  until  the  Duke’s  death, 
in  1447,  when  he  made  his  escape,  and  profited  by  the  dis- 
turbance of  the  Duchy  to  reacquire  his  lordships  in  the 
Bergamasque  territory. 

From  the  year  1447  to  the  year  1455,  it  is  difficult  to 
follow  Colleoni’s  movements.  First,  we  find  him  employed 
by  the  Milanese  Republic,  during  its  brief  space  of  inde- 
pendence ; then  he  is  engaged  by  the  Venetians,  with  a 
commission  for  1,500  horse;  next,  he  is  in  the  service  of 
Francesco  Sforza  ; once  more  in  that  of  the  Venetians,  and 
yet  again  in  that  of  the  Duke  of  Milan.  His  biographer 
relates  with  pride  that,  during  this  period,  he  was  three  times 
successful  against  French  troops  in  Lombardy  and  Pied- 
mont. It  appears  that  he  made  short  engagements,  and 
changed  his  paymasters  according  to  convenience.  But  all 


2 58 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 


this  time  he  rose  in  personal  importance,  acquired  fresh 
lordships  in  the  Bergamasque,  and  accumulated  wealth.  He 
reached  the  highest  point  of  his  prosperity  in  1455,  when 
the  Republic  of  S.  Mark  elected  him  General-in-Chief  of 
their  armies,  with  the  fullest  powers,  and  with  the  stipend 
of  100,000  florins.  For  nearly  twenty-one  years,  until  the 
day  of  his  death,  in  1475,  Colleoni  held  this  honourable 
and  lucrative  office.  In  his  will,  he  charged  the  Signory 
of  Venice  that  they  should  never  again  commit  into  the 
hands  of  a single  Captain  such  unlimited  control  over  their 
military  resources.  It  was  indeed  no  slight  tribute  to  Col- 
leoni’s  reputation  for  integrity,  that  the  jealous  Republic, 
which  had  signified  its  sense  of  Carmagnola’s  untrustworthi- 
ness by  capital  punishment,  should  have  left  him  so  long  in 
the  undisturbed  disposal  of  their  army.  The  Standard  and 
the  Baton  of  S.  Mark  were  conveyed  to  Colleoni  by  two 
ambassadors,  and  presented  to  him  at  Brescia  on  June  24, 
1455.  Three  years  later  he  made  a triumphal  entry  into 
Venice,  and  received  the  same  ensigns  of  military  authority 
from  the  hands  of  the  Doge,  Pasquale  Malipiero.  On  this 
occasion  his  staff  consisted  of  some  two  hundred  officers, 
splendidly  armed,  and  followed  by  a train  of  serving  men. 
Noblemen  from  Bergamo,  Brescia,  and  other  cities  of  the 
Venetian  territory,  swelled  the  cortege. 

The  commandership-in-chief  of  the  Venetian  forces  was 
perhaps  the  highest  military  post  in  Italy.  It  placed  Col- 
leoni on  the  pinnacle  of  his  profession,  and  made  his  camp 
the  favourite  school  of  young  soldiers.  Among  his  pupils 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI  259 

or  lieutenants  we  read  of  Ercole  d’  Este,  the  future  Duke 
of  Ferrara;  Alessandro  Sforza,  lord  of  Pesaro ; Boniface, 
Marquis  of  Montferrat ; Cicco  and  Pino  Ordelaffi,  princes 
of  Forli;  Astorre  Manfredi,  the  lord  of  Faenza;  three 
Counts  of  Mirandola ; two  princes  of  Carpi ; Deifobo,  the 
Count  of  Anguillara;  Giovanni  Antonio  Caldora,  lord  of 
Jesi  in  the  March ; and  many  others  of  less  name. 
Honours  came  thick  upon  him.  When  one  of  the  many 
ineffectual  leagues  against  the  infidel  were  formed  in  1468, 
during  the  pontificate  of  Paul  II.,  he  was  named  Captain- 
General  for  the  Crusade.  Pius  II.  designed  him  for  the 
leader  of  the  expedition  he  had  planned  against  the  impious 
and  savage  despot,  Sigismondo  Malatesta.  King  Rene  of 
Anjou,  by  special  patent,  authorized  him  to  bear  his  name 
and  arms,  and  made  him  a member  of  his  family.  The 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  by  a similar  heraldic  fiction,  conferred 
upon  him  his  name  and  armorial  bearings. 

Colleoni  had  been  engaged  continually  since  his  earliest 
boyhood  in  the  trade  of  war.  It  was  not  therefore  possible 
that  he  should  have  gained  a great  degree  of  literary  culture. 
Yet  the  fashion  of  the  times  made  it  necessary  that  a man 
in  his  position  should  seek  the  society  of  scholars.  Ac- 
cordingly, his  court  and  camp  were  crowded  with  students, 
in  whose  wordy  disputations  he  is  said  to  have  delighted. 
Colleoni’s  court  was  a model  of  good  manners.  As  be- 
came a soldier,  he  was  temperate  in  food  and  moderate  in 
slumber.  It  was  recorded  of  him  that  he  had  never  sat 
more  than  one  hour  at  meat  in  his  own  house,  and  that  he 


26o 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 


never  overslept  the  sunrise.  After  dinner  he  would  con- 
verse with  his  friends,  entertaining  the  company  now  with 
stories  of  adventure,  and  now  with  pithy  sayings.  He  was 
sincerely  pious.  His  principal  lordships  owed  to  his  mu- 
nificence their  fairest  churches  and  charitable  institutions. 
In  Bergamo  itself  he  founded  an  establishment  named  “ La 
Pieta  ” for  the  good  purpose  of  dowering  and  marrying 
poor  girls.  This  house  he  endowed  with  a yearly  income 
or  3,000  ducats. 

Throughout  his  life  he  was  distinguished  for  great  phys- 
ical strength  and  agility.  When  he  first  joined  the  troop 
of  Braccio,  he  could  race,  with  his  corselet  on,  against  the 
swiftest  runner  of  the  army ; and  when  he  was  stripped, 
few  horses  could  beat  him  in  speed.  Far  on  into  old  age 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  long  walks  every  morning  for 
the  sake  of  exercise,  and  delighted  in  feats  of  arms  and 
jousting  matches.  u He  was  tall,  straight,  and  full  of  flesh, 
well-proportioned,  and  excellently  made  in  all  his  limbs. 
His  complexion  inclined  somewhat  to  brown,  but  was 
coloured  with  sanguine  and  lively  carnation.  His  eyes 
were  black;  in  look  and  sharpness  of  light,  they  were 
vivid,  piercing,  and  terrible.  The  outlines  of  his  nose  and 
all  his  countenance  expressed  a certain  manly  nobleness 
combined  with  goodness  and  prudence.”  Such  is  the  por- 
trait drawn  of  Colleoni  by  his  biographer;  and  it  well 
accords  with  the  famous  bronze  statue  of  the  general  at 
Venice. 

Colleoni  died  in  the  year  1475,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI  26 1 

five.  Since  he  left  no  male  representative,  he  constituted 
the  Republic  of  S.  Mark  his  heir  in  chief,  after  properly 
providing  for  his  daughters  and  his  numerous  foundations. 
The  Venetians  received  under  this  testament  the  sum  of 
100,000  ducats,  together  with  all  arrears  of  pay  due  to  him, 
and  10,000  ducats  owed  him  by  the  Duke  of  Ferrara.  It 
set  forth  the  testator’s  intention  that  this  money  should  be 
employed  in  defence  of  the  Christian  against  the  Turk. 
One  condition  was  attached  to  the  bequest.  The  legatees 
were  to  erect  a statue  to  Colleoni  on  the  Piazza  of  S.  Mark. 
This  however  involved  some  difficulty ; for  the  proud  Re- 
public had  never  accorded  a similar  honour,  nor  did  they 
choose  to  encumber  their  splendid  square  with  a monument. 
They  evaded  the  condition  by  assigning  the  Campo  in  front 
of  the  Scuola  di  S.  Marco,  where  also  stands  the  Church 
of  S.  Zanipolo,  to  the  purpose.  Here  accordingly  the  finest 
bronze  equestrian  statue  in  Italy,  if  we  except  the  Marcus 
Aurelius  of  the  Capitol,  was  reared  upon  its  marble  pedestal 
by  Andrea  Verrocchio  and  Alessandro  Leopardi. 

Colleoni’s  liberal  expenditure  of  wealth  found  its  reward 
in  the  immortality  conferred  by  art.  While  the  names  of 
Braccio,  his  master  in  the  art  of  war,  and  of  Piccinino,  his 
great  adversary,  are  familiar  to  few  but  professed  students, 
no  one  who  has  visited  either  Bergamo  or  Venice  can  fail  to 
have  learned  something  about  the  founder  of  the  Chapel  of 
S.  John  and  the  original  of  Leopardi’s  bronze.  The  annals 
of  sculpture  assign  to  Verrocchio,  of  Florence,  the  principal 
share  in  this  statue  : but  Verrocchio  died  before  it  was  cast ; 


262 


BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI 


and  even  granting  that  he  designed  the  model,  its  execu- 
tion must  be  attributed  to  his  collaborator,  the  Venetian 
Leopardi.  For  my  own  part,  I am  loth  to  admit  that  the 
chief  credit  of  this  masterpiece  belongs  to  a man  whose 
undisputed  work  at  Florence  shows  but  little  of  its  living 
spirit  and  splendour  of  suggested  motion.  That  the  Tuscan 
science  of  Verrocchio  secured  conscientious  modelling  for 
man  and  horse  may  be  assumed ; but  I am  fain  to  believe 
that  the  concentrated  fire  which  animates  them  both  is  due 
in  no  small  measure  to  the  handling  of  his  northern  fellow- 
craftsman. 

While  immersed  in  the  dreary  records  of  crimes,  treasons, 
cruelties,  and  base  ambitions,  which  constitute  the  bulk  of 
Fifteenth-Century  Italian  history,  it  is  refreshing  to  meet 
with  a character  so  fresh  and  manly,  so  simply  pious  and 
comparatively  free  from  stain,  as  Colleoni.  The  only  gen- 
eral of  his  day  who  can  bear  comparison  with  him  for  purity 
of  public  life  and  decency  in  conduct  was  Federigo  di 
Montefeltro.  Even  here,  the  comparison  redounds  to 
Colleoni’s  credit ; for  he,  unlike  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  rose 
to  eminence  by  his  own  exertion  in  a profession  fraught 
with  peril  to  men  of  ambition  and  energy.  Federigo  started 
with  a principality  sufficient  to  satisfy  his  just  desires  for 
power.  Nothing  but  his  own  sense  of  right  and  prudence 
restrained  Colleoni  upon  the  path  which  brought  Francesco 
Sforza  to  a duchy  by  dishonourable  dealings,  and  Carmag- 
nola  to  the  scaffold  by  questionable  practice  against  his 


masters. 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SERALD 

( Peter  Fischer , 1460-1529) 

WILHELM  LUBKB 


ISCHER’S  life  presents  the  spectacle  of  unceasing 


artistic  progress.  In  his  earliest  known  work,  the 
monument  of  Archbishop  Ernst,  in  the  Cathedral  of  Mag- 
deburg, executed  in  1495,  Vischer  has  already  yielded  to 
the  realism  of  the  Nuremberg  school,  displayed  in  the 
works  of  Wohlgemuth  and  Adam  Krafft.  The  Gothic 
style  still  prevails  in  the  architectural  parts,  and  its  forms 
are  treated  with  the  decorative  charm  of  the  late  period. 
This  grand  monument  which  may  be  regarded  next  to  the 
tomb  of  St.  Sebald  as  Vischer’s  greatest  work  is  based  on 
thorough  realism. 

Full  ten  years  elapse  without  our  being  able  to  assign  any 
certain  work  to  the  master.  This  gap  is  all  the  more  felt 
as  during  this  interval  a change  occurred  in  Peter  Vischer’s 
artistic  views,  which  freed  him  from  the  one-sidedness  of 
the  generally  prevailing  style  and  led  him  to  a thoroughly 
independent  and  elevated  mode  of  conception.  This  ap- 
pears in  incomparable  beauty  in  the  principal  work  of  his 
life,  in  the  tomb  of  St.  Sebald  at  Nuremberg,  in  which  he 
was  engaged  from  1508-1519.  His  task  was  to  erect  a 
worthy  monument  to  the  honoured  patron  saint  of  his  na- 
tive city,  whose  bones  rested  in  a sarcophagus  executed 


264 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD 


during  the  Middle  Ages.  All  the  artistic  skill  and  power 
of  invention  that  Vischer  possessed,  he  brought  to  bear  in 
the  production  of  this  work,  in  which  he  was  assisted  by 
his  live  sons.  In  richness  and  beauty,  and  in  delicate  per- 
fection of  execution,  it  has  only  one  counterpart  in  the  en- 
tire plastic  art  of  the  period — namely  Ghiberti’s  great 
bronze  gate  at  Florence.  In  the  graceful  structure,  and  in 
the  abundance  of  sculptured  ornament  which  covers  every 
part,  the  northern  fantastic  style  of  the  Fifteenth  Century 
again  bursts  forth ; but  the  whole  structure  is  pervaded  by 
a sense  of  distinctness,  and  a feeling  of  purity  ennobles 
every  detail. 

The  sarcophagus  of  the  saint  rests  on  a substructure, 
the  surfaces  of  which  are  adorned  with  four  reliefs  from 
his  life.  With  few  touches  and  distinct  arrangement,  Vis- 
cher here  displays  the  genuine  relief  style,  and  this  in  a 
purer  manner  than  often  appears  throughout  the  entire 
epoch.  With  the  utmost  life  he  understands  how  to  delin- 
eate and  render  palpable  to  sculpture  even  the  dim  stories 
of  miracles,  by  allowing  the  supernatural  events  to  reflect 
naive  astonishment  in  the  spectators.  On  one  of  the  nar- 
row sides,  the  statuette  of  St.  Sebald  is  introduced,  and  on 
the  other  one  the  master  has  placed  his  own  portrait.  This 
arrangement  alone  characterizes  the  spirit  of  the  epoch  of 
the  well-founded  self-confidence  of  the  able  master.  But 
still  more  distinctly  does  the  great  difference  in  the  concep- 
tion of  the  two  statuettes  indicate  the  artist’s  fine  faculty 
of  discrimination.  For  the  saint,  advancing  in  his  long 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD,  NUREMBERG  CATHEDRAL 
By  Visscher 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD 


265 


pilgrim's  dress,  with  the  staff  in  one  hand  and  the  model 
of  the  church  in  the  other,  appears  in  the  simply  grand 
flow  of  drapery  and  the  venerable  head  with  its  long  beard, 
as  an  ideal  portrait  statue;  while  the  robust  figure  of  the 
master,  with  his  broad  and  genuinely  German  countenance 
surrounded  by  a short  crisp  beard  and  covered  with  a round 
cap,  dressed  in  the  simple  leather  apron,  and  with  an  unas- 
suming character  in  the  whole  bearing,  presents  the  appear- 
ance of  a national  realistic  type. 

This  simple  centre  of  the  monument  is  enclosed  and 
surmounted  by  eight  slender  pillars,  forming  graceful 
pointed  arches  above,  and  crowned  by  a triple  dome  of  the 
richest  construction.  Between  the  pillars  graceful  cande- 
labra are  introduced,  which  extend  up  to  the  point  of  the 
arches.  We  cannot  touch  upon  these  features  of  the  ar- 
chitectural structure  without  pointing  out  its  independent 
value.  For  in  spite  of  attacks  which  would  give  the  pref- 
erence to  an  earlier  design  of  the  year  1488,  in  the  Gothic 
style,  it  is  expressly  shown  that  the  executed  work  is  un- 
doubtedly superior  to  the  sketch  in  architectural  beauty  and 
originality,  as  well  as  in  its  suitability  for  the  admission  of 
plastic  ornament.  It  is  true  the  master  mingles  in  the 
spirit  of  the  time  rich  decorative  forms  of  the  Renaissance 
with  the  slender  structure,  the  delicate  organization,  and 
the  pointed  arch  of  the  Gothic,  and  adds  at  last  in  the 
crowning  dome  various  reminiscences  of  the  Romanesque 
baldachin,  enriched  with  Gothic  detail.  All  this,  however, 
is  not  merely  designed  with  sparkling  mind  and  rich  fancy, 


266 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD 


but  with  wise  regard  to  the  artistic  object  and  the  material 
employed,  and  is  executed  with  such  exulting  delight  in  the 
lavish  wealth  of  idea  that  every  blame  must  be  silenced, 
and  must  bend  before  the  superiority  of  a creation  cast  as  it 
were  out  of  one  mould.  How  ingenious,  too,  to  place  the 
whole  on  the  firm  shells  of  snails  ! With  what  variety  are 
the  rich  bases  of  the  pillars,  columns,  and  candelabra,  the 
numerous  capitals  and  consoles  formed  ! With  all  this, 
with  what  artistic  consideration  are  the  main  architectural 
lines  preserved,  so  that  the  same  idea  is  reflected  through- 
out in  all  the  rainbow  colours  of  the  imagination. 

And  yet  the  splendour  of  the  whole  work  culminates 
really  in  its  rich  sculptured  ornament.  At  the  principal 
divisions,  on  a level  with  the  spectator’s  eye,  there  rise  from 
the  pillars  of  the  airy  structure  the  ideal  pillars  of  the 
church — namely,  the  Apostles.  These  are  slender  figures, 
perfect  in  the  development  of  physical  form,  some  of  them 
with  mild  and  grand  heads,  calmly  absorbed  in  reflection,  as 
Judas,  Thaddeus,  and  Thomas;  others  with  a sad  expres- 
sion, as  Bartholomew  and  John,  or  advancing  towards  each 
other  with  animation,  as  Philip  and  Paul,  Simon  and 
Andrew.  The  drapery  combines  the  ideal  grace  of  the 
best  Gothic  epoch  with  the  rich  variety  of  the  antique  and 
the  full  life  of  the  modern  period.  These  unsurpassably 
noble  figures  possess  the  closest  affinity  with  the  figures 
of  Ghiberti,  to  whom  Vischer  approaches  most  nearly  in 
purity  and  nobleness  of  feeling.  There  is  only  this  differ- 
ence— that  in  Ghiberti  the  antique  element  is  most  promi- 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD 


267 


nent,  and  in  Vischer  that  of  the  Middle  Ages.  This  fact 
appears  all  the  more  apparent  as  in  several  of  these  figures, 
such  as  those  of  Matthew  and  of  James  the  Less,  there  is 
a slight  but  unmistakable  touch  of  the  conventional  bearing 
of  Gothic  works.  The  great  master  has  distinctly  per- 
ceived the  defects  of  the  realism  of  his  time,  and  has  per- 
fectly freed  himself  from  the  constraint  of  his  earlier  works. 
It  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  the  first  stimulant  to  do  this, 
as  well  as  to  the  acceptance  of  Renaissance  ideas,  reached 
him  from  Italy.  But  he  was  therefore  no  imitator,  far 
rather  he  understood  how  to  blend  the  national  freshness 
and  the  warmth  of  feeling  of  German  art  with  southern 
nobleness  of  form,  and  at  the  same  time  to  awaken  into 
renewed  life  all  the  grace  and  ease  that  belonged  to  the  art 
of  his  own  ancestors,  and  to  win  for  German  sculpture  that 
importance  which  was  awarded  to  painting  in  a similar 
manner  by  Holbein. 

High  above  the  Apostles,  the  pillars  were  crowned  by 
twelve  smaller  statuettes,  partly  Prophets,  similarly  fine  in 
characterization,  and  four  figures  in  bold  attitudes  and 
youthful  features,  in  the  dress  of  the  period  ; one  of  them 
even  with  tucked-up  shirt  sleeves.  These  were,  perhaps, 
also  Prophets,  in  whose  characterization  the  master  made 
large  concessions  to  the  fantastic  tendency  of  his  time.  All 
the  other  decorative  parts  are  covered  with  an  innumerable 
abundance  of  sculptures. 

The  lower  part  is  especially  rich  in  life.  In  the  corners 
are  the  fantastic  figures  of  Nimrod,  Samson,  Perseus  and 


268 


TOMB  OF  ST.  SEBALD 


Hercules,  and  between  them,  at  the  foot  of  the  central 
candelabrum,  the  figures  of  Strength,  Moderation,  Prudence 
and  Justice,  all  charming  figures  of  the  utmost  grace.  On 
the  small  connecting  arches  of  the  lower  structure,  on  the 
central  cornice,  and  on  the  upper  capitals  of  the  candelabra, 
there  are  groups  of  nude  children,  somewhat  heavy  perhaps 
in  form,  but  truly  enchanting  from  their  wanton  sport, 
charming  play  and  graceful  humour.  It  was  in  harmony 
with  the  whole  course  of  ideas  that  the  Infant  Christ  should 
stand  as  a crowning  to  the  whole  on  the  highest  central 
dome.  But  even  with  all  this,  the  inexhaustible  fancy  of 
the  master  was  not  yet  satisfied.  He  ventured  into  the 
antique  world  of  fable,  introduced  dolphin-like  Gothic 
crockets  at  the  arches,  employed  harpies  as  charming  light- 
holders,  and  spread  a whole  band  of  Tritons,  Sirens,  Satyrs 
and  Fauns  over  the  bases  of  the  columns  and  candelabra. 
And  from  this  rich  abundance  of  natural  and  fantastic  life 
rise  above  in  calm  distinctness  the  tall  figures  of  the 
Apostles  as  bearers  of  the  spiritual  power  of  Christianity. 
Never  has  a work  of  German  sculpture  combined  the 
beauty  of  the  south  with  the  deep  feeling  of  the  north  more 
richly,  more  thoughtfully  and  more  harmoniously. 


1 


KING  ARTHUR 

( Peter  Fischer , 1460-1529) 

CECIL  HEADLAM 

PETER  VISCHER,  the  great  bronze  founder  whose 
work  and  that  of  his  house  embodies  the  complete 
transition  from  the  Gothic  to  the  Renaissance  style  in 
Germany,  was  born  and  brought  up  in  his  father’s  house 
ct  Am  Sande There  he  lived  and  he  worked  as  an  appren- 
tice with  his  father  in  the  Town  Foundry  in  the  White 
Tower  all  the  days  of  his  boyhood.  So  much  we  may 
assume,  although  we  know  nothing  of  his  youth,  and  no 
one  of  all  the  men  since  dead  would  be  more  surprised  than 
he  to  find  himself  the  subject  of  a monograph,  or  would 
be  more  genuinely  astonished  to  learn  that  his  up-bringing 
is  a source  of  interest  to  later  generations.  For  he  appears 
to  us  in  the  few  historical  documents  in  which  he  figures 
as  the  perfect  type  of  the  plain,  unspoilt  craftsman  or 
Master  of  a Guild.  A man  was  not  an  artist  in  those  days, 
but  a mere  stone-mason,  or  smith,  or  painter.  But,  lacking 
the  title,  he  did  not  necessarily  lack  the  quality.  The  study 
of  design  was  never  more  enthusiastic,  the  struggle  after 
excellence  never  more  sincere  than  in  the  days  when 
Durer’s  art  was  regarded  as  a mere  parasite  of  other  trades, 
when  Hans  Sachs  was 

“ Schuh  — 

Macher  und  Poet  da%uyy 


2J0 


KING  ARTHUR 


and  when  Peter  Vischer  laboured  in  his  leather  apron  at  the 
foundry  or  turned  from  the  entertaining  of  Emperors  to 
spend  his  leisure  hours  in  the  endeavour  to  improve  his 
draughtsmanship.  I have  said  that  we  know  nothing  of  the 
latter’s  boyhood,  but  if  in  his  case  the  child  was  father  of 
the  man,  he  must  have  been  a diligent  youth.  Johann 
Neudorffer  (1497-1563),  an  artistic  scribe  and  the  man  in 
whom  succeeding  ages  have  had  to  bless  the  inventor  of 
German  type,  has  left  us  a charming  picture  of  him  in 
later  days.  “This  Peter  Vischer  was  a man  of  amiable 
conversation,”  he  writes  in  his  Nachrichten  iiber  Niirnberger 
Kilnstler  und  IV trkleute , a work  which  is  not  indeed  free 
from  errors,  but  to  which  we  owe  the  earliest  accounts  we 
have  of  most  of  the  Nuremberg  artists,  “ and  among  natural 
arts  (to  speak  as  a layman)  finely  skilled  in  casting  and  so 
much  renowned  among  the  nobility  that  when  any  prince 
or  great  potentate  came  to  town  he  seldom  omitted  to  pay 
him  a visit  in  his  foundry,  for  he  went  every  day  to  his 
casting  shop  and  worked  there.” 

Art  has  been  always,  more  or  less,  dependent  upon  the 
patronage  of  the  rich  and  great.  And  the  warm  interest 
evinced  in  the  Arts  and  Crafts  by  the  Emperor  Maximilian, 
“ the  last  of  the  Knights,”  did  not  a little  to  provoke  that 
outburst  of  artistic  excellence  which  distinguished  Nurem- 
berg at  that  time ; where  the  names  of  Diirer,  Vischer  and 
Krafft  shine  out  pre-eminent  among  the  lesser  lights. 
Maximilian  was  in  many  ways  the  epitome  of  his  age,  the 
personification  of  the  Renaissance.  Soldier  and  man  of 


KING  ARTHUR,  INNSBRUCK 
By  Visscher 


KING  ARTHUR 


27I 


letters,  administrator  and  theologian,  athlete  and  scholar,  he 
yet  found  time  to  encourage  artists  and  to  devise  and  com- 
mission innumerable  works  of  art.  He  was,  in  fact,  as 
Albert  Durer  found  to  his  cost,  more  ready  to  give  com- 
missions than  to  pay  for  them  when  performed.  At 
Nuremberg  he  frequently  employed  Veit  Stoss;  he  had  a 
considerable  share  in  the  production  of  the  Weisskunig  and 
the  Theuerdank , a poem  describing  allegorically  the  private 
life  and  ideals  of  the  Emperor,  which  was  polished  and 
completed  by  his  Melchior  Pfinzing,  Provost  of  St.  Sebald’s 
Church.  He  conceived  and  commissioned  amongst  other 
works  Albert  Durer’s  colossal  wood-engraving,  the  Tri- 
umphal Arch , which  was  designed  as  usual  for  the  glorifica- 
tion of  this  greatest  of  princes.  Wherever  he  happened  to 
be,  at  Augsburg,  Innsbruck,  Nuremberg  or  Prague,  in  the 
course  of  the  conduct  of  one  of  his  innumerable  wars  or 
of  a tourney,  whilst  administering  justice,  repressing  the 
chivalrous  brigandage  of  petty  lords  or  bleeding  a Bamberg 
banker,  his  eye  was  always  quick  to  perceive  the  merit  of 
any  craftsman.  Chroniclers  repeatedly  record  his  morning 
rides  in  a town,  and  describe  the  visits  which  he  would  pay 
to  the  houses  of  half-a-dozen  craftsmen  in  a day,  buying 
and  ordering  costly  works  of  art.  He  came  to  visit  also 
the  home  of  that  already  celebrated  yet  always  modest  and 
unpretending  Founder,  Peter  Vischer,  “ to  whom  Princes 
esteemed  it  an  honour  to  do  honour.”  Maximilian  had 
before  now  shown  a practical  interest  in  bronze  work,  and 
had  incidentally  displayed  his  appreciation  of  Vischer. 


272 


KING  ARTHUR 


For  when  he  was  starting  a Foundry  at  Miihlau,  near 
Innsbruck,  he  had  had  it  in  contemplation  to  appoint  u the 
most  skilful  and  famous  coppersmith  of  Nuremberg,”  Peter 
Vischer  to  wit,  to  superintend  the  establishment  thereof. 
But  Peter  had  declined  the  honour  and  Stefan  Godl  from 
Nuremberg  was  appointed  in  his  stead. 

Now  the  teeming  brain  of  Maximilian — for  whom  no 
plan  for  his  own  exaltation  was  too  grandiose,  and  no 
project  for  the  advancement  of  his  fame  was  to  be 
despised — conceived  the  idea  of  building  for  himself  a 
lordly  tomb,  wherein,  after  he  had  been  gathered  to  his 
forefathers,  he  might  rest,  surrounded  by  the  forms  of  those 
who  had  gone  to  his  making.  To-day  twenty-eight  bronze 
over  life-size  figures  of  ancient  heroes  stand  round  and 
guard  the  Emperor’s  cenotaph  at  Innsbruck.  Two  of 
these  are  most  markedly  superior  to  the  rest  as  works  of 
art ; and  these  two  come  from  the  foundry  of  Peter 
Vischer.  They  are  the  statues  of  King  Arthur,  the  very 
perfect  flower  of  chivalry,  and  of  Theodoric,  King  of  the 
Goths. 

Documentary  evidence  reveals  the  fact  that  in  the  year 
1 5 1 3 Peter  Vischer  the  elder  received  from  the  imperial 
chest  one  thousand  florins  for  cc  %wei  grosse  messene  Pillder  ” 
(two  large  bronze  figures).  But  apart  from  the  teaching  of 
the  archives  their  resemblance  to  the  other  works  of  this 
foundry  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  the  origin  of  these  noble 
figures.  In  feeling,  in  poetry,  in  grace,  as  well  as  in  the 
minute  and  exquisite  finish  of  the  detail,  they  are  indeed 


KING  ARTHUR 


273 


worthy  of  the  blossom  period  of  the  house  of  Vischer. 
Both  figures  are  eloquent  of  the  artist's  joy  in  production, 
and  not  of  the  tradesman’s  mere  delight  in  a commission. 
Not  that  the  Vischers  were  at  all  to  seek  on  the  business 
side  of  their  craft ; they  worked,  as  the  modern  dealer 
would  express  it,  with  punctuality,  cheapness  and  despatch. 
In  artistic  excellence,  as  well  as  in  these  other  important 
qualities,  they  far  surpassed  the  labours  of  the  Miihlau 
Founder,  who  had  secured  the  commission  for  all,  or  almost 
all,  the  other  statues  for  the  tomb  of  Maximilian.  The 
Emperor  himself,  it  is  recorded,  recognized  this  fact ; for 
he  remarked  (April  16,  1513),  “For  the  3,000  florins  to 
which  the  one  statue  hitherto  cast  by  Sesselschreiber 
amounts,  six  statues  might  have  been  cast  at  Nuremberg.” 
Both  the  statues  that  hail  from  Nuremberg  are  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  but  they  are  noticeably  different  in  style. 
They  differ  so  much  in  that  unconscious  revelation  of  the 
artist’s  hand,  which  distinguishes  every  piece  of  human 
work,  that  I am  strongly  inclined  to  accept  Dr.  Seeger’s 
view,  that  whilst  Peter  Vischer  the  father  wrought  Theod- 
oric,  King  of  the  Goths,  it  is  to  his  son  and  namesake, 
Peter  Vischer  the  younger,  that  we  owe  the  statue  of  King 
Arthur.  Theodoric  leans  on  his  sword  and  shield  in  a pose 
that  is  beautiful  and  imaginative,  it  is  true,  but  in  the 
execution  slightly  forced.  This  figure  is  weaker  and  more 
conventional,  less  full  of  life  and  vigour  than  that  of  the 
King  Arthur.  Seeger  fancies  that  we  can  trace  in  it  some- 
thing of  the  uneasiness  felt  by  the  old  craftsman  when 


274 


KING  ARTHUR 


essaying  a new  style,  and  that  there  is  discernible  here  the 
slight  hesitation  and  misgiving  of  one  who  fears  that  he  is 
attempting  what  is  beyond  his  strength. 

Certainly  we  get  no  such  impression  when  we  turn  to 
the  splendid  strenuous  figure  of  Arthur.  This  is  the  Ar- 
thur whom  we  know,  in  all  the  splendour  of  his  manhood, 
bold  and  free,  the  noblest  flower  of  chivalry  ; Arthur,  the 
very  perfect  knight,  pure,  serene  in  the  confidence  of  his 
own  faith  and  right,  brooking  no  challenge  and  no  wrong. 
Here  Beauty  and  Strength  have  kissed  one  another;  and 
the  spring  of  this  youthful  figure,  nimble  and  light  of  limb, 
betrays  itself  even  through  the  hard,  straight  lines  of  the 
heavy,  rich  armour  it  bears.  It  is  the  type  of  the  noble 
Teuton  of  all  time,  drawn  by  an  artist  who  had  studied  the 
nude  and  Italian  plastic  art,  and  was  full  of  the  vigour  and 
confidence  of  his  own  youthful  ideal.  For  this  bronze 
surely  conveys  that  conviction  of  agility  for  a moment  at 
rest,  which  you  may  derive  from  the  sight  of  a Greek 
marble  or  the  lithe  figure  of  a modern  athlete.  And  is  there 
not  also  here  something  u of  that  marvellous  gesture  of 
moving  himself  within  the  bronze,”  which  Vasari  so  finely 
attributed  to  the  St.  George  of  Donatello  ? 

There  may,  perhaps,  be  in  this  figure  a touch  of  exag- 
geration which  is  so  splendidly  absent  from  that  supreme 
triumph  of  the  Renaissance ; it  is  certainly  more  virile, 
and  it  may  be  more  brutal ; but  it  is  enough  to  claim  for 
Vischer  that  in  this  noble  creation  he  challenges  compari- 
son with  u the  Master  of  those  who  know.”  Doubtless, 


KING  ARTHUR  275 

indeed,  both  his  Arthur  and  his  St.  Peter  of  the  Sebaldus- 
grab  owe  not  a little  to  the  masterpiece  of  Donatello. 

But  the  beauty  of  the  figure  and  pose  of  King  Arthur  is 
not  all.  It  need  not  blind  us  to  the  exquisite  ornamenta- 
tion of  the  armour,  which,  unlike  that  of  Theodoric,  is 
rich  with  the  richness  of  the  North  Italian  Renaissance. 
The  dragons  thereon  are  full  of  life,  and  the  chain  of  the 
Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece  and  all  the  other  minute  details 
of  the  decoration,  are  as  notable  for  the  fecundity  of  inven- 
tion as  for  the  skill  in  execution  which  they  display. 

These  two  heroic  figures  were  completed  by  the  Vischer 
family  as  early  as  the  year  1513,  but  they  did  not  reach  the 
place  for  which  they  had  been  destined  till  some  ten  years 
later,  for  the  Emperor  kept  them  at  Augsburg.  And  even 
after  they  had  arrived  at  Innsbruck  and  had  been  set  in  po- 
sition there,  they  were  not  left  in  peace.  A great  danger 
threatened  Theodoric  in  1548,  for  it  did  not  square  with 
Charles  Ws  conception  of  the  order  of  the  Universe 
that  the  king  of  the  Goths  should  be  found  among  the 
ancestors  of  the  Hapsburgs.  He  therefore  gave  orders  that 
his  statue  should  either  be  recast,  or,  at  least,  be  renamed. 
Fortunately  neither  of  these  things  got  itself  done. 


DAVID 

(. Michelangelo , 1475-1564) 

CHARLES  HEATH  WILSON 


IN  1501,  Michelangelo  returned  to  Florence,  where  his 
early  promise  had  been  so  cordially  recognized  by  men 
of  brilliant  abilities  and  of  the  highest  cultivation,  and  where 
the  groundwork  of  his  knowledge  of  art  and  literature  had 
been  laid  with  the  advice  and  assistance  of  the  best  masters 
and  most  learned  men  of  the  time;  for  this  great  and 
original  genius  readily  submitted  to  tuition  and  carefully 
followed  the  path  of  study  then  believed  to  be  needful  to 
the  training  of  an  artist.  He  learnt  to  draw  under  Do- 
menico Ghirlandaio,  acquiring  at  least  a knowledge  of  first 
principles,  he  studied  modelling  and  was  taught  to  chisel 
marble  under  the  direction  of  Bertoldo,  and  whilst  his 
choice  of  a profession  was  to  be  a sculptor,  he  dili- 
gently studied  the  frescoes  of  Masaccio  and  like  all 
other  artists  of  his  time,  drew  inspiration  from  those  great 
works. 

It  is  remarkable  that  there  should  be  no  record  of  his 
pursuit  of  mathematics,  scientific  perspective,  or  of  archi- 
tecture and  ornament.  Whatever  knowledge  he  acquired 
of  these  branches  of  science  and  art,  it  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  in  early  life  when  his  whole  attention  was  ab« 


DAVID,  ACADEMY,  FLORENCE 
By  Michelangelo 


DAVID 


2 77 


sorbed  by  the  study  of  the  human  form,  more  exclusively, 
it  appears,  than  was  usual  with  artists  of  the  time.  This 
undoubtedly  sprang  from  his  devotion  to  sculpture. 

Michelangelo  brought  with  him  to  Florence  a greatly 
augmented  reputation  as  the  sculptor  of  the  Cupid,  the 
Bacchus  and  the  Pieta,  and  it  might  reasonably  be  supposed, 
that,  whilst  commissions  would  flow  in  upon  him,  those 
who  sought  the  aid  of  his  skill  would  approach  him  with 
respect  and  confidence. 

In  the  first  contract,  which  was  made  after  his  return  to 
Florence  from  Rome,  on  the  part  of  Francesco  Todeschini 
Piccolomini,  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Siena,  distrust  is  ex- 
pressed rather  than  confidence.  It  is  stipulated  amongst 
other  conditions,  that  the  statue  should  be  better  executed 
than  was  usually  the  case  in  Rome,  and  that,  if  not  satis- 
factory, it  should  be  done  over  again. 

The  next  commission  in  point  of  date  was  that  of  the 
colossal  statue  of  David,  offered  to  Michelangelo  by  the 
officers  of  the  works  of  the  Cathedral  of  Florence  on  the 
sixteenth  of  August,  1501. 

A block  of  marble,  eighteen  feet  in  length,  had  lain  for 
many  years  in  a court  attached  to  the  Office  of  Works,1  orig- 
inally intended  to  form  part  of  a colossal  statue  to  be  exe- 
cuted by  Agostino  d’  Antonio  di  Duccio,  and  placed  at  his 
disposal  in  1464.  This  artist  had  successfully  completed 
another  colossus  the  year  before,  but  he  was  not  equally 
fortunate  with  his  second  commission,  and  not  only  failed, 
but  made  the  block  so  unshapely  that  sculptors  generally 


278 


DAVID 


held  that  nothing  could  be  made  of  it  without  the  addition 
of  other  pieces  of  marble.  It  might  reasonably  be  sup- 
posed that  in  offering  a commission  to  Michelangelo,  es- 
pecially for  a statue  to  which  was  to  be  assigned  a meaning 
expressive  of  the  maintenance  and  defence  of  the  national 
liberties — therefore  a national  work — marble  would  be  pro- 
vided, which  would  give  the  artist’s  genius  free  scope.  It 
was  not  so.  A deformed  block  was  offered  presenting 
many  difficulties,  by  which,  however,  Michelangelo  was 
not  discouraged.  He  made  several  models,  two  of  which 
still  exist  in  the  Buonarotti  Museum  at  Florence,  neither 
of  them,  however,  being  that  from  which  the  statue  was 
sculptured,  but  they  are  interesting  as  showing  that  the 
misshapen  block  admitted  of  more  than  one  translation. 

Michelangelo  undertook  to  complete  the  colossal  statue 
of  David  in  two  years,  commencing  from  September,  1501, 
and  accepted  as  payment  a sum  equivalent  to  two  pounds 
sixteen  shillings  a month.  As  it  was  necessary  to  build  a 
workshop  expressly,  a convenient  spot  was  selected  near 
the  Cathedral,  and  a temporary  erection,  partly  of  stone, 
partly  of  wood,  was  soon  prepared,  within  which  Michel- 
angelo commenced  the  Colossus.  Not  as  a modern  sculp- 
tor would,  with  a full-sized  model,  an  ingenious  apparatus 
to  transfer  its  proportions  to  the  marble,  and  skilful  carvers 
to  block  it  out  and  to  carry  it  on  till  within  a few  touches 
of  the  chisel  of  completion,  but  alone  in  presence  of  the 
huge  and  awkward  block,  with  chisels  fashioned  and  tem- 
pered by  himself.  How  he  worked,  even  when  age  had 


DAVID  279 

overtaken  him,  is  admirably  described  by  Vigenero,  who 
knew  him  and  had  seen  him  at  work : 

“ I have  seen  Michelangelo,  although  sixty  years  of  age, 
and  not  one  of  the  most  robust  of  men,  smite  down  more 
scales  from  a very  hard  block  of  marble  in  a quarter  of  an 
hour  than  three  young  marble  cutters  would  in  three  or  four 
times  that  span,  which  must  seem  incredible  to  those  who 
have  not  seen  it  done  ! He  flung  himself  upon  the  marble 
with  such  impetuosity  and  fervour  as  to  induce  me  to  be- 
lieve that  he  would  break  the  work  into  fragments.  With 
a single  blow,  he  brought  down  scales  of  marble  of  three  or 
four  fingers’  breadth,  and  with  such  precision  to  the  line 
marked  on  the  marble,  that  if  he  had  broken  away  a very 
little  more,  he  risked  the  ruin  of  his  work.” 

In  January,  1504,  the  statue,  which  Michelangelo  com- 
menced in  September,  1501,  was  finished.  Such  were  the 
difficulties  of  his  task,  so  unfit  had  the  block  been  for  free 
action  on  the  part  of  the  great  sculptor,  that  the  chiselling 
of  Duccio  remains  on  portions  of  the  back,  having  pene- 
trated to  a depth  beyond  which  it  was  impossible  to  cut 
further  without  injury  to  the  proportions  of  the  figure. 
When  the  David  was  exhibited  for  the  first  time,  it  struck 
all  those  with  wonder  who  had  seen  the  block  of  marble  in 
the  state  in  which  it  had  been  left,  and  it  was  said  that  a 
dead  body  had  been  raised  to  life.  This  statue  marks  the 
commencement  of  Michelangelo’s  second  manner,  and  in 
it  are  seen  the  thoughts  which  agitated  him,  as  he  sculp- 
tured the  Deliverer.  It  is  far  removed  from  his  preceding 


28o 


DAVID 


works  in  its  vigour  and  energy ; and  it  expresses  with  a 
force,  which  can  only  be  felt  in  its  presence,  the  calm  de- 
liberation of  a being,  totally  fearless  and  deeply  conscious 
of  what  depends  on  the  deed  which  he  is  about  to  do,  as  he 
gazes  on  his  gigantic  enemy,  without  a doubt  of  the  coming 
end  of  the  battle.  In  reply  to  the  taunts  of  the  Philistine, 
he  says,  u I come  to  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts.” 
This  is  the  moment  selected  by  Michelangelo,  and  the  trust 
and  daring  of  the  youth,  who  had  slain  the  lion  and  the 
bear,  and  who  now  said  to  the  enemy  of  his  people,  “ I will 
smite  thee  and  take  thy  head  from  thee,”  is  expressed  in 
every  lineament  of  this  noble  statue.  David  is  represented 
naked ; having  cast  aside  the  armour  offered  him,  he  rests 
firmly  on  his  right  leg,  which  is  magnificently  formed,  the 
left  knee  is  advanced  and  the  left  foot  touches  the  ground 
with  an  eager  movement  expressive  of  readiness  for  action. 
The  beautiful  body,  full  of  life,  strong  and  pliant,  is  slightly 
bent  round,  with  the  head  turned  to  the  enemy.  The  mass- 
ive shoulders  are  thrown  back,  the  right  arm  is  pendent, 
and  the  right  hand  grasps  resolutely  the  stone  with  which 
the  adversary  is  to  be  slain.  The  left  is  bent  upwards  so 
as  to  bring  the  hand  almost  into  contact  with  the  shoulder. 
The  sling  is  in  this  hand  ready  to  receive  the  stone  and  to 
be  transferred  to  the  right.  The  noble  head,  crowned  with 
its  mass  of  tangled  locks,  turns  on  a neck  like  a tower, 
a neck  never  to  be  bent  before  a foe.  The  features  are 
magnificent,  the  brows  are  knit,  under  them  the  resolute 
eyes  measure  the  enemy,  undismayed  by  his  gigantic  stature 


DAVID 


28l 


and  brazen  armour.  The  nostrils  expand,  but  the  breathing 
is  calm,  and  the  full  firmly  compressed  lips  convey  the  same 
impression  as  the  other  features,  of  deliberate,  inflexible  cour- 
age. This  noble  creation,  so  fraught  with  patriotic  meaning, 
represents  a beautiful  youth  of  strong  and  active  form,  but 
the  beauty  is  subordinated  to  the  expression  of  force ; the 
hands  and  feet  seem  somewhat  large,  but  they  are  the  hands 
and  feet  of  the  shepherd,  who  defended  his  flock  from  wild 
beasts,  and  his  countrymen  from  the  giant.  There  is  no 
thought  of  the  ideal  of  grace  or  dignity,  but  of  heroic 
courage,  and  the  forms  are  in  harmony  with  this,  which  is 
the  sentiment  pervading  the  whole  statue. 

In  the  admiration  which  this  work  of  art  excited,  a Com- 
mittee was  appointed  to  decide  where  it  could  most  worthily 
be  placed,  every  one  in  Florence  considered  specially  ca- 
pable of  giving  a sound  opinion  being  included  in  this  Com- 
mittee selected  from  every  class  of  citizens.  The  list  of 
names  is  singularly  interesting,  for  it  contains  Andrea  della 
Robbia,  sculptor;  Benedetto  Buglione  ; Giovanni  delle 
Corniole ; Attavante ; Messer  Francesco,  herald  of  the 
Signory ; Francesco  Monciatto,  the  carpenter;  Giovanni 
PifFero ; Lorenzo  della  Volpaia;  Buonaccorso  di  Bartoluc- 
cio — nephew  of  Lorenzo  Ghiberti ; Salvestro,  jeweller ; 
Cosimo  Roselli  ; Guasparre  di  Simoni,  goldsmith  ; Lodo- 
vico,  goldsmith  and  master  founder ; Andrea  il  Riccio,  gold- 
smith ; Gallieno,  embroiderer ; David  di  Ghirlandaio,  mo- 
saicist ; Simone  del  Pollaiuolo,  called  Cronaca;  Filippino 
Lippi ; Sandro  Botticelli ; Giuliano  and  Antonio  San  Gallo ; 


282 


DAVID 


Andrea  del  Monte  Sansovino;  Chimenti  del  Tasso;  Fran- 
cesco Granacci ; Biagio,  the  painter  ; Bernardo  di  Marco  ; 
Pier  di  Cosimo;  Leonardo  da  Vinci;  Pietro  Perugino; 
Bernardo  della  Cecca;  and  Michelangelo,  goldsmith  (father 
of  Bandinelli),  a remarkable  array  of  men  of  genius  living  at 
that  time  in  Florence,  and  called  together  to  assist  the  citizens 
in  selecting  a place  for  a public  statue  by  Michelangelo. 

If  there  be  any  excuse  for  not  leaving  the  selection  to 
the  sculptor  himself  it  is  found  in  the  choice  of  councillors. 
But  they  differed  in  opinion,  some  wishing  to  place  the  new 
statue  under  the  arcade  of  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  others  on 
the  terrace  in  front  of  the  Palace  of  the  Signory,  and  this 
was  finally  decided  upon,  from  deference  to  the  opinion  of 
Michelangelo  himself.  Here  it  stood  from  the  year  1504, 
till  it  was  removed  in  1873  anc^  ta^en  to  the  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts  in  Florence.  It  may  seem  presumptuous  to  crit- 
icise the  proposals  of  such  a Committee  as  that  selected  in 
1504,  and  containing  so  many  great  names,  but  it  appears 
obvious  that  if  the  statue  of  David  had  been  placed  under 
the  Loggia,  it  would  have  injured  the  proportions  of  that 
beautiful  building,  whilst,  as  may  be  readily  judged  by  the 
statues  now  there,  it  could  only  have  been  seen  by  cross 
and  reflected  lights.  It  is  evident  that  a proper  effect  of 
chiaroscuro  is  essential  to  the  favourable  display  of  the 
work  of  sculpture;  the  beauties  and  merits  can  be  brought 
out  by  this  means  only  ; if  the  statue  is  marble  and  is  not 
placed  in  what  artists  call  a good  light,  at  even  a short  dis- 
tance off  it  is  seen  only  as  a white  mass,  or  as  a dark  mass 


DAVID 


283 


if  of  bronze.  The  good  old  Tuscan  sculptors  have  scant 
justice  done  to  their  productions  whether  in  the  open  air  or 
in  the  Churches,  and  the  real  merits  of  these  admirable 
artists  cannot  be  properly  appreciated,  placed,  as  their 
works  too  frequently  are,  in  bad  lights. 

On  the  first  of  April,  1504,  the  Office  of  Works  of  the 
Cathedral  commissioned  Michelangelo,  assisted  by  others 
of  practical  skill,  to  convey  the  statue  of  David  from  the 
place  where  it  had  been  executed  to  the  Palace  of  the  Sig- 
nory,  and  the  Priors  issued  orders  to  their  officials  to  give 
whatever  aid  was  required  for  its  safe  transport.  Conse- 
quently, Simone  del  Pollaiuolo,  Antonio  da  Sangallo,  Barto- 
lommeo, the  carpenter,  and  Bernardo  della  Cecca,  deputies 
of  the  Priors,  volunteered  their  services.  According  to 
Vasari,  Giuliano  and  Antonio  da  Sangallo,  or,  as  related  by 
Parenti,  Simone  del  Pollaiuolo  invented  the  frame  for  its 
support  and  the  contrivances  for  its  safe  removal. 

“ On  the  fourteenth  of  May  the  giant  of  marble  was 
dragged  from  the  Office  of  Works  at  the  hour  of  twenty- 
four,  part  of  the  wall  over  the  entrance  being  broken  down 
to  allow  it  to  pass.  As  it  rested  that  evening  ready  for  its 
further  progress  next  day,  malicious  people  flung  stones  at 
it  to  injure  it,  so  that  it  was  necessary  each  night  to  set  a 
guard  over  it.  It  went  very  slowly,  being  bound  in  an  up- 
right position  so  that  it  swung  freely.  With  much  inge- 
nuity and  trouble  it  was  thus  in  four  days  conveyed  to  the 
piazza,  which  it  reached  at  noon  on  the  eighteenth  ” (Par- 
enti). 


284 


DAVID 


The  pedestal  for  the  statue  was  designed  by  Pollaiuolo 
and  Antonio  Sangallo.  It  is  not  specified  why  this  was  not 
left  to  Michelangelo,  but  at  this  time  it  is  evident  that  he 
was  not  thought  of  as  an  architect ; he  could  not,  however 
untrained,  have  invented  anything  more  commonplace  than 
the  production  of  the  united  architects. 

The  statue  being  placed,  Michelangelo  gave  it  its  last 
touches,  and  it  was  whilst  so  occupied,  that,  as  is  asserted, 
the  Gonfaloniere  Soderini’s  famous  criticism  of  the  nose, 
and  Michelangelo’s  equally  famous  presence  of  mind  oc- 
curred. The  story  is  probably  untrue,  and  the  malevolent 
attempt  to  make  Soderini  the  type  of  a foolish  critic  was 
ungrateful  and  unjust.  He  was  a fervent  and  enlightened 
promoter  of  fine  art,  and  the  respected  friend  of  the  great- 
est artists  of  the  time. 


THE  TOMBS  OF  GXULXANO  AND 
LORENZO  DE’  MEDICI 

( Michelangelo , 1475-1564) 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS 

IN  1520,  the  Cardinal  Giulio  de’  Medici  conceived  the 
notion  of  building  a sacristy  in  S.  Lorenzo  to  receive 
tne  monuments  of  Cosimo,  the  founder  of  the  house, 
Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  Giuliano,  Duke  of  Nemours, 
Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino,  Leo  X.,  and  himself.  To 
Michelangelo  was  committed  the  design,  and  in  1521  he 
began  to  apply  himself  to  the  work.  As  in  the  case  of  all 
his  works,  except  the  Sistine,  only  a small  portion  of  the 
original  project  was  executed.  This  new  undertaking 
occupied  him  at  intervals  between  1521  and  1534,  a space 
of  time  decisive  for  the  fortunes  of  the  Medici  in  Florence. 
Leo  died,  and  Giulio  after  a few  years  succeeded  him  as 
Clement  VII.  The  bastards  of  the  house,  Ippolito  and 
Alessandro,  were  expelled  from  Florence  in  1527.  Rome 
was  sacked  by  the  Imperial  troops ; then  Michelangelo 
quitted  the  statues  and  helped  to  defend  his  native  city 
against  the  Prince  of  Orange.  After  the  failure  of  the 
Republicans  he  was  recalled  to  his  labours  by  command  of 
Clement.  Sullenly  and  sadly  he  quarried  marbles  for  the 
sacristy.  At  last  in  1534  Clement  died.  Then  Michel- 


286 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


angelo  flung  down  his  mallet.  The  monuments  remained 
unfinished,  and  the  sculptor  set  foot  in  Florence  no  more. 

The  sacristy  may  be  looked  upon  either  as  the  master- 
piece of  a sculptor  who  required  fit  setting  for  his  statues, 
or  of  an  architect  who  designed  statues  to  enhance  the 
structure  he  had  planned.  Both  arts  are  used  with  equal 
ease,  nor  has  the  genius  of  Michelangelo  dealt  more  master- 
fully with  the  human  frame  than  with  the  forms  of  Roman 
architecture  in  this  chapel.  He  seems  to  have  paid  no 
heed  to  classic  precedent,  and  to  have  taken  no  pains  to 
adapt  the  parts  to  the  structural  purpose  of  the  building. 
It  was  enough  for  him  to  create  a wholly  novel  framework 
for  the  modern  miracle  of  sculpture  it  enshrines,  attending 
to  such  rules  of  composition  as  determine  light  and  shade, 
and  seeking  by  the  relief  of  mouldings  and  pilasters  to 
enhance  the  terrible  and  massive  forms  that  brood  above 
the  Medicean  tombs.  The  result  is  a product  of  pictur- 
esque and  plastic  art  as  true  to  the  Michelangelesque  spirit 
as  the  Temple  of  the  Wingless  Victory  to  that  of  Phidias. 
But  where  Michelangelo  achieved  a triumph  of  boldness, 
lesser  natures  were  betrayed  into  bizarrerie  ; and  this  chapel 
of  the  Medici,  in  spite  of  its  grandiose  simplicity,  proved  a 
stumbling-block  to  subsequent  architects  by  encouraging 
them  to  despise  propriety  and  violate  the  laws  of  structure. 

We  may  assume  then  that  the  colossal  statues  of  Giuliano 
and  Lorenzo  were  studied  with  a view  to  their  light  and 
shadow  as  much  as  to  their  form  ; and  this  is  a fact  to  be 
remembered  by  those  who  visit  the  chapel  where  Buonarotti 


TOMB  OF  L.  DE’MEDICI,  SAN  LORENZO,  FLORENCE 
By  Michelangelo 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


287 


laboured  both  as  architect  and  sculptor.  Of  the  two  Medici 
it  is  not  fanciful  to  say  that  the  Duke  of  Urbino  is  the  most 
immovable  of  spectral  shapes  eternalized  in  marble  ; while 
the  Duke  of  Nemours,  more  graceful  and  elegant,  seems 
to  present  a contrast  to  this  terrible  thought-burdened  form. 
The  allegorical  figures,  stretched  on  segments  of  ellipses 
beneath  the  pedestals  of  the  two  Dukes,  indicate  phases  of 
darkness  and  light,  of  death  and  life.  They  are  two  women 
and  two  men ; tradition  names  them  Night  and  Day, 
Twilight  and  Dawning.  Thus  in  the  statues  themselves 
and  in  their  attendant  genii  we  have  a series  of  abstractions, 
symbolizing  the  sleep  and  waking  of  existence,  action  and 
thought,  the  gloom  of  death,  the  lustre  of  life,  and  the 
intermediate  states  of  sadness  and  of  hope  that  form  the 
borderland  of  both.  Life  is  a dream  between  two  slumbers  ; 
sleep  is  death’s  twin-brother;  night  is  the  shadow  of 
death  ; death  is  the  gate  of  life ; — such  is  the  mysterious 
mythology  wrought  by  the  sculptor  of  the  modern  world  in 
marble.  All  these  figures,  by  the  intensity  of  their  ex- 
pression, the  vagueness  of  their  symbolism,  force  us  to 
think  and  question.  What,  for  example,  occupies  Lorenzo’s 
brain  ? Bending  forward,  leaning  his  chin  upon  his  wrist, 
placing  his  other  hand  upon  his  knee,  what  does  he  for 
ever  ponder  ? 

cc  The  sight,”  as  Rogers  said  well,  “ fascinates  and  is 
intolerable.”  Michelangelo  has  shot  the  beaver  of  the 
helmet  forward  on  his  forehead,  and  bowed  his  head,  so  as 
to  clothe  the  face  in  darkness.  But  behind  the  gloom 


288 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


there  lurks  no  fleshless  skull,  as  Rogers  fancied.  The 
whole  frame  of  the  powerful  man  is  instinct  with  some 
imperious  thought.  Has  he  outlived  his  life  and  fallen 
upon  everlasting  contemplation  ? Is  he  brooding,  injured 
and  indignant,  over  his  own  doom  and  the  extinction  of  his 
race  ? Is  he  condemned  to  witness  in  immortal  immobility 
the  woes  of  Italy  he  helped  to  cause  ? Or  has  the  sculptor 
symbolized  in  him  the  burden  of  that  personality  we  carry 
with  us  in  this  life,  and  bear  for  ever  when  we  wake  into 
another  world  ? Beneath  this  incarnation  of  oppressive 
thought  there  lie,  full  length  and  naked,  the  figures  of  Dawn 
and  Twilight,  Morn  and  Evening.  So  at  least  they  are 
commonly  called,  and  these  names  are  not  inappropriate; 
for  the  breaking  of  the  day  and  the  approach  of  night  are 
metaphors  for  many  transient  conditions  of  the  soul.  It  is 
only  as  allegories  in  a large  sense,  comprehending  both  the 
physical  and  intellectual  order,  and  capable  of  various  inter- 
pretation, that  any  of  these  statues  can  be  understood. 
Even  the  Dukes  do  not  pretend  to  be  portraits,  and  hence 
in  part  perhaps  the  uncertainty  that  has  gathered  round 
them.  Very  tranquil  and  noble  is  Twilight;  a giant  in 
repose,  he  meditates,  leaning  upon  his  elbow,  looking  down. 
But  Dawn  starts  from  her  couch,  as  though  some  painful 
summons  had  reached  her,  sunk  in  dreamless  sleep,  and 
called  her  forth  to  suffer.  Her  waking  to  consciousness 
is  like  that  of  one  who  has  been  drowned,  and  who  finds 
the  return  to  life  agony.  Before  her  eyes,  seen  even 
through  the  mists  of  slumber,  are  the  ruin  and  shame  of 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


289 


Italy.  Opposite  lies  Night,  so  sorrowful,  so  utterly  ab- 
sorbed in  darkness  and  the  shade  of  death,  that  to  shake  off 
that  everlasting  lethargy  seems  impossible.  Yet  she  is  not 
dead.  If  we  raise  our  voices,  she  too  will  stretch  her 
limbs,  and,  like  her  sister,  shudder  into  sensibility  with 
sighs.  Only  we  must  not  wake  her;  for  he  who  fashioned 
her  has  told  us  that  her  sleep  of  stone  is  great  good  fortune. 
Both  of  these  women  are  large  and  brawny,  unlike  the 
Fates  of  Phidias.  The  burden  of  Michelangelo’s  thought 
was  too  tremendous  to  be  borne  by  virginal  and  graceful 
beings.  He  had  to  make  women  no  less  capable  of  suffer- 
ing, no  less  world-wearied,  than  his  country. 

Standing  before  these  statues,  we  do  not  cry,  How 
beautiful  ! We  murmur,  How  terrible,  how  grand  ! Yet, 
after  long  gazing,  we  find  them  gifted  with  beauty  beyond 
grace.  In  each  of  them  there  is  a palpitating  thought,  torn 
from  the  artist’s  soul  and  crystallized  in  marble.  It  has 
been  said  that  architecture  is  petrified  music.  In  the 
Sacristy  of  S.  Lorenzo  we  feel  impelled  to  remember 
phrases  of  Beethoven.  Each  of  these  statues  becomes  for 
us  a passion,  fit  for  musical  expression,  but  turned  like 
Niobe  to  stone.  They  have  the  intellectual  vagueness, 
the  emotional  certainty,  that  belongs  to  the  motives  of  a 
symphony.  In  their  allegories,  left  without  a key,  sculp- 
ture has  passed  beyond  her  old  domain  of  placid  concrete 
form.  The  anguish  of  intolerable  emotion,  the  quickening 
of  the  consciousness  to  a sense  of  suffering,  the  acceptance 
of  the  inevitable,  the  strife  of  the  soul  with  destiny,  the 


290 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


burden  and  the  passion  of  mankind  : — that  is  what  they 
contain  in  their  cold  chisel-tortured  marble.  It  is  open  to 
critics  of  the  school  of  Lessing  to  object  that  here  is  the 
suicide  of  sculpture.  It  is  easy  to  remark  that  those  strained 
postures  and  writhen  limbs  may  have  perverted  the  taste  of 
lesser  craftsmen.  Yet  if  Michelangelo  was  called  to  carve 
Medicean  statues  after  the  sack  of  Rome  and  the  fall  of 
Florence — if  he  was  obliged  in  sober  sadness  to  make 
sculpture  a fit  language  for  his  sorrow-laden  heart — how 
could  he  have  wrought  more  truthfully  than  this?  To 
imitate  him  without  sharing  his  emotions  or  comprehending 
his  thoughts,  as  the  soulless  artists  of  the  decadence  at- 
tempted, was  without  all  doubt  a grievous  error.  Surely 
also,  we  may  regret,  not  without  reason,  that  in  the  evil  days 
upon  which  he  had  fallen,  the  fair  antique  Heiterkeit  and 
Allgemeinheit  were  beyond  his  reach. 

That  this  regret  is  not  wholly  sentimental  may  be  proved, 
I think,  by  an  exchange  of  verses  which  we  owe  to  Vasari’s 
literary  sagacity.  He  tells  us  that  when  the  statue  of  the 
Night  was  opened  to  the  public  view,  it  drew  forth  the 
following  quatrain  from  an  author  unknown  to  himself  by 
name  : 1 — 

The  Night  thou  seest  here,  posed  gracefully 
In  act  of  slumber  was  by  an  Angel  wrought 
Out  of  this  stone  ; sleeping,  with  life  she’s  fraught : 

Wake  her  incredulous  wight;  she’ll  speak  to  thee. 


1 The  writer  was  Giovan  Battista  Strozzi. 


MEDICI  TOMBS 


291 


Michelangelo  would  have  none  of  these  academical 
conceits  and  compliments.  He  replied  in  four  verses, 
which  show  well  enough  what  thoughts  were  in  his  brain 
when  he  composed  the  nightmare-burdened,  heavy-sleeping 
woman : — 

Dear  is  my  sleep,  but  more  to  be  mere  stone. 

So  long  as  ruin  and  dishonour  reign : 

To  hear  naught,  to  feel  naught,  is  my  great  gain ; 

Then  wake  me  not ; speak  in  an  undertone. 


MOSES 

( Michelangelo , 1475-1564) 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS 


ULIUS  ordered  the  sculptor  to  prepare  his  mausoleum. 


Michelangelo  asked,  “Where  am  I to  place  it?” 
Julius  replied,  u In  S.  Peter’s.”  But  the  old  basilica  of 
Christendom  was  too  small  for  this  ambitious  pontiff’s 
sepulchre,  designed  by  the  audacious  artist.  It  was  there- 
fore decreed  that  a new  S.  Peter’s  should  be  built  to  hold  it. 
In  this  way  the  two  great  labours  of  Buonarotti’s  life  were 
mapped  out  for  him  in  a moment.  But  by  a strange  con- 
trariety of  fate,  to  Bramante  and  San  Gallo  fell  respectively 
the  planning  and  spoiling  of  S.  Peter’s.  It  was  only  in 
extreme  old  age  that  Michelangelo  crowned  it  with  that 
world’s  miracle,  the  dome.  The  mausoleum  to  form  a 
canopy  for  which  the  building  was  designed,  dwindled  down 
at  last  to  the  statue  of  Moses  thrust  out  of  the  way  in  the 
church  of  S.  Pietro  ad  Vincula.  What  we  possess  of  the 
sculptor’s  achievement  is  a torso  of  his  huge  designs. 

Giulio’s  tomb,  as  he  conceived  it,  would  have  been  the 
most  stupendous  monument  of  sculpture  in  the  world. 
That  mountain  of  marble  covered  with  figures  wrought  in 
stone  and  bronze  was  meant  to  be  the  sculptured  poem  of 
the  thought  of  Death;  no  mere  apotheosis  of  Pope  Julius, 
but  a pageant  of  the  soul  triumphant  over  the  limitations 


MOSES,  S.  PIETRO  IN  VINCOLI,  ROME 
By  Michelangelo 


MOSES 


293 


of  mortality.  All  that  dignifies  humanity — arts,  sciences, 
and  laws;  the  victory  that  crowns  heroic  effort;  the  majesty 
of  contemplation,  and  the  energy  of  action — was  symbolized 
upon  ascending  piers  of  the  great  pyramid ; while  the  genii 
of  heaven  and  earth  upheld  the  open  tomb  where  lay  the 
dead  man  waiting  for  the  Resurrection.  Of  this  gigantic 
scheme  only  one  imperfect  drawing  now  remains.  The 
Moses  and  the  Bound  Captives  are  all  that  Michelangelo 
accomplished.  For  forty  years  the  Moses  remained  in  his 
workshop. 

The  Tomb  of  Julius,  as  it  now  appears  in  the  Church 
of  S.  Pietro  ad  Vincula  in  Rome,  is  a monument  composed 
of  two  discordant  parts,  by  inspecting  which  a sympathetic 
critic  is  enabled  to  read  the  dreary  history  of  its  production. 
As  Condivi  allows,  it  was  a thing  “ rattoppata  e rifatta” 
patched  together  and  hashed  up. 

The  lower  half  represents  what  eventually  survived  from 
the  grandiose  original  design  for  one  facade  of  that  vast 
mount  of  marble  which  was  to  have  been  erected  in  the 
Tribune  of  S.  Peter’s.1  The  socles,  upon  which  the 
captive  Arts  and  Sciences  were  meant  to  stand,  remain ; 

1 The  different  size  and  scale  of  the  statues  on  this  monument  are  very 
striking.  Moses,  of  course,  overbalances  the  whole  and  suffers  greatly 
from  being  hardly  raised  at  all  above  the  ground.  Michelangelo  designed 
him  to  be  seen  at  a considerable  height  above  the  eye.  The  Sibyl  looks 
larger  and  heavier  than  the  Prophet;  is  certainly  bulkier  than  the 
Madonna  and  the  two  Lives.  Michelangelo  and  his  school  do  not  appear 
to  have  been  particular  about  keeping  relative  proportions  in  their  monu- 
ments. Leone  Leoni’s  tomb  for  Gian  Giacomo  de’  Medici  at  Milan  is 
extravagantly  wilful  and  capricious  in  this  respect. 


294 


MOSES 


but  instead  of  statues,  inverted  consoles  take  their  places 
and  lead  lamely  up  to  the  heads  and  busts  of  terminal  old 
men.  The  pilasters  of  these  terms  have  been  shortened 
There  are  four  of  them,  enclosing  two  narrow  niches, 
where  beautiful  female  figures,  the  Active  Life  and  the 
Contemplative  Life,  still  testify  to  the  enduring  warmth 
and  vigour  of  the  mighty  sculptor’s  genius.  As  single 
statues  duly  worked  into  a symmetrical  scheme  these 
figures  would  be  admirable,  since  grace  of  line  and  sym- 
bolical contrast  of  attitude  render  both  charming.  In  their 
present  position  they  are  reduced  to  comparative  insignifi- 
cance by  heavy  architectural  surroundings.  The  space  left 
free  between  the  niches  and  the  terms  is  assigned  to  the 
seated  statue  of  Moses,  which  forms  the  main  attraction 
of  the  monument. 

The  architectural  plan  and  the  surface  decoration  of  this 
lower  half  are  conceived  in  a style  belonging  to  the  earlier 
Italian  Renaissance.  Arabesques  and  masks  and  foliated 
patterns  adorn  the  flat  slabs.  The  recess  of  each  niche  is 
arched  with  a concave  shell.  The  terminal  busts  are  boldly 
modelled,  and  impose  upon  the  eye.  The  whole  is  rich  in 
detail,  and  though  somewhat  arid  in  fanciful  invention, 
it  carries  us  back  to  the  tradition  of  Florentine  work  by 
Mino  da  Fiesole  and  Desiderio  da  Settignano. 

When  we  ascend  to  the  upper  portion,  we  seem  to  have 
passed,  as  indeed  we  do  pass,  into  the  region  of  the  new 
manner  created  by  Michelangelo  at  S.  Lorenzo.  The 
orders  of  the  pilasters  are  immensely  tall  in  proportion  to 


MOSES 


295 


the  spaces  they  enclose.  Two  of  these  spaces,  those  on 
the  left  and  right  side,  are  filled  in  above  with  meaningless 
rectangular  recesses,  while  seated  statues  occupy  less  than  a 
whole  half  in  altitude  of  the  niches.  The  architectural 
design  is  nondescript,  corresponding  to  no  recognized  style, 
unless  it  be  a bastard  Roman  Doric.  There  is  absolutely 
no  decorative  element  except  four  shallow  masks  beneath 
the  abaci  of  the  pilasters.  All  is  cold  and  broad  and  dry, 
contrasting  strangely  with  the  accumulated  details  of  the 
lower  portion.  In  the  central  niche,  immediately  above  the 
Moses,  stands  a Madonna  of  fine  sculptural  quality,  beneath 
a shallow  arch,  which  repeats  the  shell-pattern.  At  her 
feet  lies  the  extended  figure  of  Pope  Julius  II.,  crowned 
with  the  tiara,  raising  himself  in  a half-recumbent  attitude 
upon  his  right  arm.1 

Of  the  statues  in  the  upper  portion,  by  far  the  finest  in 
artistic  merit  is  the  Madonna.  This  dignified  and  gracious 
lady,  holding  the  Divine  Child  in  her  arms,  must  be 
reckoned  among  Buonarotti’s  triumphs  in  dealing  with  the 
female  form.  There  is  more  of  softness  and  sweetness 
here  than  in  the  Madonna  of  the  Medicean  sacristy,  while 
the  infant  playing  with  the  captured  bird  is  full  of  grace. 


1 It  has  occurred  to  me  that  this  awkward  pose  of  Julius — “ with  his 
hand  under  his  cheek,  as  if  he  died  of  the  toothache  ” — may  have  been  in- 
tentionally so  ordered  by  the  family,  in  reminiscence  of  the  two  fine 
monuments  by  the  hand  of  Andrea  Sansovino,  which  the  Pope  himself 
erected  in  S.  Maria  del  Popolo  to  the  memories  of  the  Cardinals  Ascanio 
Sforza  and  Hieronymo  Basso.  These  are  remarkable  for  the  adoption  of 
the  half-recumbent  pensive  attitude  I have  described. 


2gb 


MOSES 


Michelangelo  left  little  in  this  group  for  the  chisel  of 
Montelupo  to  deform  by  alteration.  The  seated  female,  a 
Sibyl,  on  the  left,  bears  equally  the  stamp  of  his  design. 
Executed  by  himself,  this  would  have  been  a masterpiece 
for  grandeur  of  line  and  dignified  repose.  As  it  is,  the 
style,  while  seeming  to  aim  at  breadth,  remains  frigid  and 
formal.  The  so-called  Prophet  on  the  other  side  counts 
among  the  signal  failures  of  Italian  sculpture.  It  has 
neither  beauty  nor  significance.  Like  a heavy  Roman 
consul  of  the  Decadence,  the  man  sits  there,  lumpy  and 
meaningless ; we  might  take  it  for  a statue-portrait  erected 
by  some  provincial  municipality  to  celebrate  a local 
magnate  ; but  of  prophecy  or  inspiration  there  is  nothing 
to  detect  in  this  inert  figure.  We  wonder  why  he  should 
be  placed  so  near  a Pope. 

It  is  said  that  Michelangelo  expressed  dissatisfaction  with 
Montelupo’s  execution  of  the  two  statues  finally  committed 
to  his  charge,  and  we  know  from  documents  that  the  man 
was  ill  when  they  were  finished.  Still  we  can  hardly  ex- 
cuse the  master  himself  for  the  cold  and  perfunctory  per- 
formance of  a task  which  had  such  animated  and  heroic  be- 
ginnings. Competent  judges,  who  have  narrowly  surveyed 
the  monument,  say  that  the  stones  are  badly  put  together, 
and  the  workmanship  is  defective  in  important  requirements 
of  the  sculptor-mason’s  craft.  Those  who  defend  Buona- 
rotti  must  fall  back  upon  the  theory  that  weariness  and  dis- 
appointment made  him  at  last  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  a 
design  which  had  cost  him  so  much  anxiety,  pecuniary  dif- 


MOSES 


297 


ficulties,  and  frustrated  expectations  in  past  years.  He  let 
the  Tomb  of  Julius,  his  first  vast  dream  of  art,  be  botched 
up  out  of  dregs  and  relics  by  ignoble  hands,  because  he  was 
heart-sick  and  out  of  pocket. 

As  artist,  Michelangelo  might,  one  thinks,  have  avoided 
the  glaring  discord  of  styles  between  the  upper  and  lower 
portions  of  the  tomb  ; but  sensitiveness  to  harmony  of  man- 
ner lies  not  in  the  nature  of  men  who  rapidly  evolve  new 
forms  of  thought  and  feeling  from  some  older  phase. 
Probably  he  felt  the  width  and  the  depth  of  that  gulf  which 
divided  himself  in  1505  from  the  same  self  in  1545  less  than 
we  do.  Forty  years  in  a creative  nature  introduce  subtle 
changes,  which  react  upon  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  provoke 
subsequent  criticism  to  keen  comments  and  comparisons. 
The  individual  and  his  contemporaries  are  not  so  well  aware 
of  these  discrepancies  as  posterity. 

The  Moses,  which  Paul  and  his  courtiers  thought  suf- 
ficient to  commemorate  a single  Pope,  stands  as  the  eminent 
jewel  of  this  defrauded  tomb.  We  may  not  be  attracted  by 
it.  We  may  even  be  repelled  by  the  goat-like  features,  the 
enormous  beard,  the  ponderous  muscles,  and  the  grotesque 
garments  of  the  monstrous  statue.  In  order  to  do  it  jus- 
tice, let  us  bear  in  mind  that  the  Moses  now  remains  de- 
tached from  a group  of  environing  symbolic  forms  which 
Michelangelo  designed.  Instead  of  taking  its  place  as  one 
among  eight  corresponding  and  counterbalancing  giants,  it 
is  isolated,  thrust  forward  on  the  eye ; whereas  it  was  in- 
tended to  be  viewed  from  below  in  concert  with  a scheme 


298 


MOSES 


of  balanced  figures,  male  and  female,  on  the  same  colossal 
scale. 

Condivi  writes  not  amiss,  in  harmony  with  the  gusto  of 
his  age,  and  records  what  a gentle  spirit  thought  about  the 
Moses  then  : u Worthy  of  all  admiration  is  the  statue  of 
Moses,  duke  and  captain  of  the  Hebrews.  He  sits  posed 
in  the  attitude  of  a thinker  and  a sage,  holding  beneath  his 
right  arm  the  tables  of  the  law,  and  with  the  left  hand  giv- 
ing support  to  his  chin,  like  one  who  is  tired  and  full  of 
anxious  cares.  From  the  fingers  of  this  hand  escape  long 
flowing  lines  of  beard,  which  are  very  beautiful  in  their 
effect  upon  the  eye.  The  face  is  full  of  vivid  life  and  spir- 
itual force,  fit  to  inspire  both  love  and  terror,  as  perhaps 
the  man  in  truth  did.  He  bears,  according  to  the  custom- 
ary wont  of  artists  while  portraying  Moses,  two  horns 
upon  the  head,  not  far  removed  from  the  summit  of  the 
brows.  He  is  robed  and  girt  about  the  legs  with  hosen, 
the  arms  bare,  and  all  the  rest  after  the  antique  fashion. 
It  is  a marvellous  work,  and  full  of  art;  mostly  in  this,  that 
underneath  those  subtleties  of  raiment  one  can  perceive  the 
naked  form,  the  garments  detracting  nothing  from  the  beauty 
of  the  body  ; as  was  the  universal  way  of  working  with  this 
master  in  all  his  clothed  figures,  whether  painted  or 
sculptured.” 

Except  that  Condivi  dwelt  too  much  upon  the  repose  of 
this  extraordinary  statue,  too  little  upon  its  vivacity  and  agi- 
tating unrest,  his  description  serves  our  purpose  as  well  as 
any  other.  He  does  not  seem  to  have  felt  the  turbulence 


MOSES  299 

and  carnal  insolence  which  break  our  sense  of  dignity  and 
beauty  now. 

Michelangelo  left  the  Moses  incomplete  in  many  details, 
after  bringing  the  rest  of  the  figure  to  a high  state  of  polish. 
Tooth-marks  of  the  chisel  are  observable  upon  the  drapery, 
the  back,  both  hands,  part  of  the  neck,  the  hair,  and  the 
salient  horns.  It  seems  to  have  been  his  habit,  as  Condivi 
and  Cellini  report,  to  send  a finished  statue  forth  with  some 
sign-manual  of  roughness  in  the  final  touches.  That  gave 
his  work  the  signature  of  the  sharp  tools  he  had  employed 
upon  it.  And  perhaps  he  loved  the  marble  so  well  that  he 
did  not  like  to  quit  the  good  white  stone  without  sparing  a 
portion  of  its  clinging  strength  and  stubbornness,  as  symbol 
of  the  effort  of  his  brain  and  hand  to  educe  live  thought 
from  inner  matter. 

In  the  century  after  Michelangelo’s  death  a sonnet  was 
written  by  Giovanni  Battista  Felice  Zappi  upon  this  Moses. 
It  is  famous  in  Italian  literature,  and  expresses  adequately 
the  ideas  which  occur  to  ordinary  minds  when  they  ap- 
proach the  Moses.  For  this  reason  I think  that  it  is 
worthy  of  being  introduced  in  a translation  here  : 

Who  is  the  man,  who,  carved  in  this  huge  stone. 

Sits  giant,  all  renowned  things  of  art 
Transcending  ? he  whose  living  lips,  that  start. 

Speak  eager  words  ? I hear  and  take  their  tone. 

He  sure  is  Moses.  That  the  chin  hath  shown 
By  its  dense  honour  the  brows’  beam  bipart ; 

*Tis  Moses,  when  he  left  the  Mount,  with  part. 


300 


MOSES 


A great  part,  of  God’s  glory  round  him  thrown. 
Such  was  the  prophet  when  those  sounding  vast 
Waters  he  held  suspense  about  him  ; such 
When  he  the  sea  barred,  made  it  gulph  his  foe. 
And  you,  his  tribes,  a vile  calf  did  you  cast  ? 
Why  not  an  idol  worth  like  this  so  much  ? 

To  worship  that  had  wrought  you  lesser  woe. 


PERSEUS 

(. Benvenuto  Cellini , IS00~I572') 

CHARLES  C.  PERKINS 

ON  his  arrival  at  Florence  in  the  month  of  August 
(1545)  Cellini  waited  on  Duke  Cosimo  at  Poggio  a 
Cajano,  where  the  benign  prince  received  him  in  the  kindest 
way,  and  requested  him  to  model  a figure  of  Perseus,  to  be 
placed  under  one  of  the  arches  of  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi. 
w Hearing  this  (he  says),  I was  moved  by  an  honourable 
ambition,  and  thought  within  myself,  4 My  work  will  then 
stand  between  one  by  Michelangelo,  and  one  by  Donato,  men 
who  have  surpassed  the  ancients ; what  more  can  I desire 
than  to  be  admitted  to  such  proximity  ? ’ Wherefore  with 
great  joy  and  zeal,  I commenced  to  make  a little  model 
of  the  Perseus,  and  when  I showed  it  to  his  Excellency,  he 
said  in  wonder,  4 If  you  can  make  this  work  in  the  large  as 
well  as  you  have  made  it  in  the  small,  I am  sure  that  it 
will  be  the  finest  statue  in  the  Piazza/  to  which,  moved 
partly  by  reason  of  what  I had  done,  and  partly  by  what  I 
felt  able  to  do,  I replied,  4 Oh  ! most  excellent  prince,  I 
promise  you  that  the  statue  shall  be  three  times  better  than 
the  model,’  at  which  he  shook  his  head  and  I took  my 
leave.” 

During  the  next  four  years,  while  occupied  upon  this 
figure,  Cellini  suffered  infinite  trouble  and  annoyance 


3°2 


PERSEUS 


owing  to  the  enmity  of  Ricci,  the  Duke’s  maggiordomo, 
and  of  Baccio  Bandinelli,  who  threw  doubts  upon  his  capac- 
ity. The  Duke  had  given  him  a house  for  his  atelier  (in 
the  Via  del  Rosajo)  and  fixed  his  salary  at  two  hundred 
scudi  a year;  but  this  promising  prospect  soon  clouded 
over,  and  Cellini,  meeting  with  coldness  and  silence  at 
court,  and  the  enmity  of  his  brother  artists  abroad,  and 
finding  it  impossible  to  get  money  enough  to  go  on  with 
his  work,  would  have  returned  to  France,  had  he  not  re- 
ceived an  intimation  that  the  settling  of  his  accounts  with 
the  King,  which  were  by  no  means  as  clear  as  they  should 
have  been,  might  seriously  damage  his  reputation. 

His  position  eventually  became  so  intolerable,  that  he 
ran  away  to  Venice,  where  he  spent  a short  time  in  the  so- 
ciety of  Titian,  Sansovino,  and  Lorenzino  de’  Medici,  who 
advised  him  not  to  go  back  to  Florence;  but,  as  he  was 
determined  to  make  the  Perseus,  he  disregarded  their  ad- 
vice. After  his  return,  he  first  tried  his  skill  in  casting  a 
bust  of  the  Duke  (now  in  the  Uffizi)  and  then  the  body  of 
Medusa,  but  could  not  immediately  begin  the  statue  of 
Perseus,  as  the  Duke,  influenced  by  Bandinelli,  long  re- 
fused to  advance  him  the  necessary  funds.  Having  ex- 
plained his  grounds  for  hope  of  success,  and  taken  many 
precautionary  measures,  especially  necessary  with  this  figure 
on  account  of  the  position  of  the  arms,  which  made  it 
peculiarly  difficult  to  cast  the  whole  in  one  piece,  he  at  last 
set  about  his  difficult  task,  with  the  belief  that  should  he 
succeed  all  his  troubles  would  be  at  an  end. 


PERSEUS,  LOGGIA  DEI  LANZI,  FLORENCE 
By  Cellini 


PERSEUS 


3°3 

The  terrible  anxieties  and  dangers  through  which  he 
passed,  before  his  efforts  were  rewarded  with  complete 
success,  are  thus  graphically  described  in  the  story  of  his 
life. 

We  pass  over  the  preliminary  steps,  and  take  up  the  nar- 
rative at  the  moment  when  the  metal  was  disposed  in  the 
furnace,  the  wood  prepared  for  lighting,  the  canals  properly 
directed  for  conducting  the  molten  liquid,  and  the  work- 
men placed  at  their  posts.  “ I then,”  he  says,  “ ordered 
them  to  set  fire  to  the  furnace,  which,  being  extremely 
well  built,  and  filled  with  pine  sticks  whose  resinous  quality 
makes  them  very  combustible,  burnt  so  vigorously,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  run  hither  and  thither,  to  my  own  insup- 
portable fatigue.  Add  to  this,  that  as  the  shop  caught  fire, 
and  we  were  afraid  that  the  roof  would  fall  on  us,  so  much 
wind  and  rain  entered  on  the  garden  side  that  it  cooled  the 
furnace.  After  fighting  against  these  perverse  accidents 
for  several  hours,  with  ever-increasing  fatigue,  1 was  seized 
with  the  most  terrible  attack  of  fever  that  can  be  imagined, 
wherefore  I felt  obliged  to  go  to  bed,  before  doing  which  I 
turned  to  my  assistants,  who  were  ten  or  more  in  number 
(counting  the  bronze-casters,  labourers,  countrymen,  and 
my  own  private  workmen),  and  after  recommending  myself 
to  them  all,  I said  to  Bernardino  Mannellini  di  Mugello, 
who  had  been  with  me  for  several  years,  c Follow  the  plan 
which  I have  shown  you,  and  be  as  quick  as  you  can,  for 
the  metal  will  soon  be  ready  ; you  cannot  make  a mistake, 
as  these  other  men  will  prepare  the  canals,  and  with  the 


3°4 


PERSEUS 


iron  implements  you  can  open  the  orifices  of  the  furnace, 
through  which  the  metal  will  flow  and  fill  the  mould.  I 
feel  more  ill  than  I ever  felt  in  my  life,  and  am  certain  that 
I cannot  live  many  hours.’  After  saying  which,  I left 
them  and  went  to  my  bed.” 

For  two  hours  poor  Benvenuto  lay  tossing  with  fever,  at- 
tended by  a female  servant  who  tried  to  comfort  him  and 
give  him  hope,  while  pity  for  his  unfortunate  state  forced 
tears  from  her  eyes  which  she  vainly  strove  to  conceal 
from  him.  u While  I lay  in  this  unmeasured  state  of 
wretchedness,”  he  says,  “ I saw  a certain  man,  whose  body 
was  as  crooked  as  an  S,  enter  my  room,  who  said  in  a sad 
voice,  such  as  those  are  wont  to  use  who  come  to  prepare 
the  condemned  for  death,  c O Benvenuto ! your  work  is 
ruined  past  earthly  remedy.’  When  I heard  the  words  of 
this  wretch,  I uttered  a shriek  which  might  have  been 
heard  in  the  fiery  sphere,  and  rising  from  my  bed,  began  to 
hurry  on  my  clothes,  giving  kicks  and  blows  to  the  servants 
and  to  my  boy,  and  to  all  who  came  near  me,  exclaiming, 
4 O traitors  and  invidious  reptiles,  this  is  a treason  done  to 
art,  but  I swear  by  God  that  I will  unveil  your  wickedness, 
and  that  before  I die  I will  leave  such  a mark  of  myself  on 
the  world  that  more  than  one  person  will  be  astonished.’  ” 

Bearing  down  the  timid  opposition  of  the  workmen 
whom  he  found  standing  helplessly  about  the  furnace, 
Cellini  caused  a quantity  of  young  oak  wood  to  be  brought, 
and  a block  of  tin,  about  sixty  pounds  in  weight,  to  be  cast 
into  the  furnace  ; thanks  to  which  vigorous  measures  he 


PERSEUS  305 

soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  metal,  which  had 
caked  and  cooled,  again  become  fluid. 

“ Seeing  that,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  all  these  ignorant 
people,  I had  resuscitated  the  dead,  I again  became 
vigorous,  and  forgot  my  fever  and  my  fear  of  death.  Sud- 
denly, to  our  alarm,  we  heard  a noise,  and  saw  a flash  of 
fire  as  if  a thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  our  midst,  and  as  soon 
as  the  noise  and  glare  had  passed,  and  we  began  to  see 
each  others'  faces  again,  we  found  that  the  top  of  the 
furnace  had  burst,  and  risen  in  such  a way  that  the  bronze 
poured  out,  wherefore  I caused  the  mouths  of  my  mould  to 
be  opened,  and  the  two  furnace  plugs  to  be  driven  in  ; but 
seeing  that  the  metal  did  not  run  as  fast  as  it  ought  to, 
perhaps  because  the  alloy  had  been  destroyed  by  the  terrible 
fire,  I cast  into  the  canals  and  the  furnace  all  my  tin  dishes 
and  plates,  to  the  number  of  about  two  hundred ; until 
every  one,  seeing  that  the  bronze  was  liquid,  and  the  mould 
in  process  of  being  filled,  assisted  and  obeyed  me  with 
zeal,  while  I,  now  here,  now  there,  ordered,  helped,  and 
said,  c Assist  me,  O God,  who  by  Thy  great  power  didst 
raise  the  dead  before  gloriously  ascending  to  heaven ; * 
and  then,  seeing  that  my  mould  was  filled,  fell  on  my  knees 
and  thanked  God  with  all  my  heart,  after  which  I ate  a 
hearty  meal  with  my  assistants,  and  it  being  then  two  hours 
before  dawn,  went  to  bed  with  a light  heart,  and  slept  as 
sweetly  as  if  I had  never  been  ill  in  my  life." 

“ Feci  Peneoy  O Dio , come  ogn 9 uom  vede , 

E piacque  a chi  lo  feci  e a tutto  il  mondo .” 


3°6 


PERSEUS 


Yes,  Cellini  was  right ; his  Perseus  pleased  all  the  world, 
excepting  Bandinelli  and  his  friends. 

When  it  was  uncovered  in  the  Piazza,  expressions  of 
admiration  were  heard  on  all  sides  ; from  the  Duke,  who, 
half  hidden  in  the  embrasure  of  a window  of  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio,  looked  down  upon  the  scene,  to  the  lowest  of 
his  subjects  who  thronged  below ; and  Cellini  as  he 
walked  among  them  was  flattered  by  being  pointed  out 
as  the  great  artist  who  had  made  this  wonderful  statue. 

And  in  truth  there  is  much  to  admire  in  the  Perseus  as 
he  stands  with  a drawn  sword  in  his  right  hand,  looking 
down  upon  the  lifeless  body  of  Medusa,  whose  gory  head 
he  holds  aloft  in  his  left ; in  the  marble  pedestal,  richly 
adorned  with  skulls,  goats’  heads,  festoons,  terminal  figures, 
and  niches  containing  bronze  statuettes  of  Jupiter,  Mercury, 
Minerva  and  Danae  ; and  above  all,  in  the  bronze  bas- 
relief  of  Perseus  descending  to  liberate  Andromeda,  which 
is  set  into  the  parapet  below. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  though  the  winged  helmet,  the 
face,  the  forearm,  and  the  outstretched  hand  of  this  statue 
are  admirable,  the  head  is  too  large  for  the  body ; the 
torso,  which  is  full  of  unmeaning  detail,  is  too  long  for 
the  legs,  and  the  parts  are  ill  put  together.  Then  the 
highly  ornate  pedestal  is  too  narrow  for  its  height ; and 
the  bas-relief,  though  one  of  Cellini’s  best  works,  is 
vicious  in  style.  Its  central  portion  is  occupied  by  the 
graceful  figure  of  Andromeda,  whose  long  tresses  stream 
in  the  wind,  as  shielding  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  looks 


PERSEUS 


3°7 

upward  for  her  deliverer,  who  is  coming  down  from  the 
clouds  to  attack  the  monster,  who,  with  open  jaws,  bat-like 
wings,  claws  of  iron  strength  and  scaly  body,  stands  ready 
to  receive  him.  Upon  the  shore  are  Andromeda’s  mother 
Cassiopea,  and  her  father  Cepheus,  who  has  a stern  sad 
face  ; while  between  them  her  disappointed  lover  Phineas, 
whose  head  reminds  us  of  an  antique  gem,  rises  from  the 
earth  like  an  avenging  spirit,  followed  by  a troop  of 
warriors  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  the  last  of  whom  gallop 
furiously  through  the  clouds. 

As  might  have  been  expected  in  the  work  of  a man 
who  had  spent  more  than  forty  years  upon  w minuteria  ” 
general  effect  is  here  lost  in  elaboration  of  detail  which, 
though  beautiful  in  itself,  is  not  kept  sufficiently  sub- 
ordinate. 

To  Cellini  it  seemed  that  the  Perseus  never  had  been 
and  never  would  be  surpassed,  and  so  much  did  he  pre- 
sume upon  his  success  that  he  estimated  its  value  at  10,000 
gold  scudi ; and  when  the  Duke  grew  angry,  and  said  that 
he  could  build  churches  and  palaces  for  such  a sum,  he 
answered,  cc  Your  Excellency  can  find  any  number  of  men 
to  serve  you  as  architects,  but  not  one  capable  of  making 
such  a statue;  no,  not  even  my  master  Michelangelo  now 
that  he  is  old,  although  he  might  perhaps  have  done  so  in 
his  youth,  if  he  had  taken  as  much  pains  as  I have.” 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 

(John  of  Bologna , 1524-1608 ) 

ABEL  DESJARDINS 

EW  lives  have  been  more  glorious  and  none  more 


fortunate  than  that  of  John  of  Bologna.  Everything 
was  easy  for  him.  If  he  encountered  a few  obstacles  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career,  he  overcame  them  without 
effort.  He  had  none  of  those  long  and  grievous  trials  that 
too  often  compromise  the  future  of  men  of  great  talent  and 
leave  incurable  wounds  in  their  hearts.  He  had  scarcely 
arrived  in  Florence  when  he  found  a protector,  a wealthy 
and  enlightened  friend,  who  supported  him  by  offering  him 
a refuge,  and  guided  him  with  his  experience  and  advice. 
The  favour  of  the  Medici,  which  was  lasting,  laid  open  for 
him  the  quarries  of  Carrara  and  Seravezza,  from  which  he 
could  draw  marble  as  he  wished ; this  favour  also  lavished 
upon  him  all  the  bronze  that  was  required  for  his  immense 
works.  The  sovereigns  of  Germany,  France  and  Spain 
competed  for  the  favour  of  attaching  him  to  their  service. 
The  Emperor  spontaneously  sent  letters  of  nobility  to  him ; 
and  the  Pope  meant  to  honour  the  Order  of  Christ  by  con- 
ferring it  upon  him.  If  envy  attempted  to  murmur  in  low 
tones,  it  scarcely  opened  its  attack  : he  immediately  im- 
posed silence  upon  it,  and  avenged  himself  by  creating 
masterpieces  which  aroused  universal  admiration.  His 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY,  BARGELLO,  FLORENCE 
By  John  of  Bologna 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY  309 

robust  constitution  and  his  unfailing  health  allowed  him  to 
accomplish  with  certainty  the  tremendous  tasks  demanded 
of  him.  His  equableness  of  spirit  was  perfect ; his 
imagination,  graceful  and  strong  in  turn,  was  always  well 
regulated.  His  nature  was  well  balanced  and  guaranteed 
him  against  all  excesses.  Solely  possessed  by  the  love  of 
his  art,  it  was  given  to  him  to  realize  everything  that  he 
conceived.  Thanks  to  his  long  life,  he  was  able  to  enjoy 
his  celebrity  during  his  lifetime;  and,  when  he  died,  he  had 
the  consolation  of  confiding  to  eminent  masters,  whom  he 
himself  had  formed  and  enriched,  the  care  of  worthily  com- 
pleting the  few  works  which  he  had  left  unfinished.  In 
conclusion,  it  may  be  said  that  if  no  man  was  ever  more 
constantly  happy,  no  man  was  ever  more  worthy  of 
being  so. 

Early  in  1572,  Prince  Francesco  took  John  of  Bologna 
away  from  his  important  work  and  sent  him  to  Rome  to 
procure  antique  statues  for  him.  Vasari  seized  this  op- 
portunity to  present  him  to  the  Pope  as  the  “ prince  of  the 
sculptors  of  Florence.” 

It  was  probably  during  this  short  visit  to  Rome  that  our 
artist  first  conceived  the  idea  of  the  original  masterpiece 
that  he  was  to  execute  in  bronze  about  1574,  some  time 
after  his  return  to  Florence, — we  mean  the  Flying  Mercury. 
This  prodigy  of  lightness,  grace  and  elegance,  this  creation 
so  ingenious  and  assuredly  so  rare — molto  ingegnosa  cosa  e 
certe  tanto  rarissima , — says  Vasari,  excited  universal  ad- 
miration. The  Emperor  Maximilian  II.,  who  had  been 


310 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


presented  with  a copy  by  the  Medici,  was  so  delighted  with 
it  that  he  made  every  possible  effort  to  induce  the  author 
of  the  Mercury  to  come  and  settle  at  his  court.  But  Prince 
Francesco,  who  had  become  Grand  Duke  that  same  year 
(1574)  on  the  death  of  Cosmo  I.,  was  more  anxious  than 
ever  to  retain  in  his  own  service  a sculptor  whose  fame 
was  daily  increasing.  He  therefore  raised  John’s  salary  of 
thirteen  crowns  to  twenty-five  crowns  a month  ; and  in- 
stalled him  in  a house  which  he  rented  for  him  in  the  Borgo 
san  Jacopo. 

John  of  Bologna  had  been  already  for  several  years,  not- 
withstanding his  foreign  origin,  a member  of  the  Academy 
of  Design,  the  origin  of  which  dated  from  the  days  of 
Giotto  and  which  was  re-established  by  the  Medici  in 
1563.  Here  he  found  himself  in  company  with  Allori, 
Bronzino,  Salviati,  Cigoli,  Santi  di  Tito,  Vasari,  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  Ammanati,  San  Gallo  and  Antonio  da  Settignano, 
besides  Palladio,  Titian,  Tintoret,  and  Veronese : — in  a 
word,  the  elite  of  the  artists  of  entire  Italy. 

He  formed  a warm  friendship  with  Cigoli,  Salviati,  and 
particularly  with  his  fellow-countryman  Jan  de  Strae, 
called  Stradano,  and  Mona  Mattea,  a master  mason  in  high 
favour  with  the  Grand  Dukes. 

Under  these  favourable  conditions,  the  artist,  without 
having  to  neglect  his  great  works,  found  time  to  produce 
other  works  of  secondary  importance,  none  of  which  was 
unworthy  of  him.  His  crucifixes  were  justly  celebrated; 
his  statuettes  in  gold  and  silver  were  perfect  in  execution. 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


311 

His  works  were  in  great  demand,  but  the  resources  of  his 
fertile  and  varied  talents  might  be  more  particularly  admired 
in  the  Villa  del  Riposo  belonging  to  his  benefactor  Bernardo 
Vecchietti,  where  was  a collection  of  his  figurines  in  clay, 
wax  and  bronze. 

The  head  of  Boreas,  the  cheeks  of  which  are  distended 
with  wind,  serves  as  a socle  for  the  statue  of  the  Flying 
Mercury.  Mercury  is  posed  on  nothing  but  a breath 
which  he  scarcely  touches  with  the  extremity  of  his  left 
foot.  He  takes  flight  and  darts  forward,  wearing  the 
winged  petasus  on  his  head ; with  one  finger  he  points 
towards  the  sky  ; his  other  arm  is  slightly  bent,  and  the 
hand  holds  the  caduceus.  “ Let  those  who  want  to  see 
him  make  haste,”  says  Dupaty,  “ he  is  taking  flight,  he  is 
in  the  air.  We  feel  that  he  is  mounting  ! What  lightness 
and  suavity  of  form,  what  grace  and  delicacy  of  expres- 
sion ! ” 

Antiquity  never  created  anything  bolder.  “ This  pose,” 
says  Cicognara,  “is  altogether  charming — oltremodo gentile. — 
The  design  is  correct ; perhaps  the  forms  are  not  those  that 
the  Greeks  would  have  given  to  a divinity,  but  nevertheless 
that  does  not  prevent  us  from  classing  this  work  among  the 
most  beautiful  productions  of  art  in  Italy  towards  the  end 
of  the  Sixteenth  Century.”  Vasari  spoke  of  the  Flying 
Mercury  as  a thing  of  the  greatest  rarity  : — cosa  che  e certo 
rarissima. — And  he  adds  that  it  was  intended  for  the 
Emperor  Maximilian.  We  do  not  deny  that  such  was  the 
intention  of  the  Grand  Duke,  but  we  can  find  no  trace  of 


3 1 2 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


it  in  the  correspondence  consulted  with  such  minute  care 
by  M.  Foucques. 

We  learn  from  Baldinucci  that  the  statue  was  placed  first 
in  the  Acciajuoli  garden.  Thence  it  was  transported  to 
Rome,  to  the  Monte  Pincio  in  the  Villa  Medici.  It  was 
certainly  there  in  1598,  and  it  surmounted  a basin  that 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  principal  flight  of  steps  of  the 
palace  on  the  garden  side.  It  appears  in  this  situation  in  a 
picture  by  Gaspero  degli  Occhiali,  which  represents  the  in- 
terior facade  of  the  Villa  Medici. 

When  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold  sold  the  Villa  Medici 
to  the  French  Government  (which  was  going  to  establish 
its  Academy  of  Painting  there)  he  had  brought  back  to 
Florence  the  monuments  of  art  contained  in  the  palace  and 
garden  in  Rome.  This  removal  occurred  between  1769 
and  1783.  At  the  latter  date,  Gustavus  III.,  King  of 
Sweden,  on  his  way  through  Florence,  saw  in  the  gallery 
of  the  Riccardi  Palace  the  finest  statues  that  belonged 
to  the  Villa  Medici.  From  there  the  Mercury  was 
transferred  to  the  Uffizi  gallery,  and  finally  to  the  palace 
of  the  podestat , or  Bargello.  So  many  removals  necessarily 
caused  injury  to  the  statue.  The  left  leg,  broken  at  the 
knee,  has  been  imperfectly  repaired  ; two  cracks  are  notice- 
able : one  on  the  left  hip  and  the  other  at  the  pit  of  the 
stomach  by  the  left  groin.  Even  as  it  is,  the  Flying  Mer- 
cury is  one  of  the  gems  of  the  museums  of  Florence. 

The  reproductions  of  this  most  popular  of  the  works  of 
John  of  Bologna  have  been  innumerable.  One  of  them, 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY  313 

which  was  at  Compiegne,  is  now  in  one  of  the  Renaissance 
rooms  of  the  Louvre  Museum. 

Florence  possesses  two  small  bronze  models  of  the  statue. 
The  plaster  statuettes  that  are  to  be  seen  everywhere  are 
generally  copied  from  one  of  these. 

Was  not  our  sculptor  inspired  by  Raphael’s  Mercury 
which  he  might  have  admired  in  Rome  among  the  Farnese 
frescoes  ? 

The  Plying  Mercury  may  be  compared  with  Benvenuto 
Cellini’s  Mercury  which  is  in  the  rear  niche  of  the  pedestal 
of  the  Perseus. 


DIANA 

{Jean  Goujon , I 5 20-1  $66) 
HENRY  JOUIN 


DIANA  of  Poitiers  having  triumphed  over  her  rival  the 
Duchesse  d’  Etampes  when  the  Dauphin  ascended 
the  throne  in  1547,  Philibert  Delorme  was  engaged  by 
Henri  II.  to  build  and  decorate  the  Chateau  d’  Anet.  It 
is  generally  agreed  that  the  edifice,  begun  in  1547,  was  fin- 
ished in  1552.  This  date  was  inscribed  on  the  gate  of  the 
chateau.  On  the  other  hand  the  clock  bears  the  date  1554, 
and,  moreover,  we  know  that  Diana  spent  no  less  than 
16,278  livres  tournois  for  the  embellishment  of  her  favourite 
residence  during  the  year  1557.  Who  were  the  artists 
who  worked  with  Delorme  on  the  Chateau  d’  Anet  ? They 
must  have  been  numerous,  but  their  names  have  not  been 
preserved  for  us  in  the  writings  of  the  day.  However, 
Jean  Goujon  is  certainly  the  author  of  the  Diana,  grouped 
with  a stag  and  the  two  dogs,  Procyon  and  Sirius.  Other 
works  coming  from  Anet  have  been  attributed  to  him,  par- 
ticularly the  bronze  bas-reliefs  which  adorned  the  clock, 
two  figures  of  Fame  also  in  bronze,  and  the  carved  wood 
ceiling  of  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  chateau.  These  various 
sculptures  were  preserved  in  the  Musee  des  Petits-Augus- 
tins  at  the  end  of  the  last  century.  What  became  of  them 
when  the  museum  was  broken  up  ? 


“Reproduced  from  Radcliffe’s  ‘ Schools  and  Masters  of  Sculpture.’ 
Copyright,  1894,  hy  D.  Appleton  & Company.” 


DIANA 


3*5 


Piganiol  in  his  Description  des  environs  de  Paris  speaks  of 
Anet.  His  notice  of  the  chateau  of  Diana  of  Poitiers  is 
not  long : it  occupies  less  than  a page.  But  nevertheless 
the  narrator  describes  with  a well-informed  pen  u the  clock 
in  which  we  see  a pack  of  fifteen  or  twenty  hounds  in 
bronze,  running  and  barking,  and  a stag,  also  in  bronze, 
which  strikes  the  hours  with  one  of  its  feet.  ...  In 
the  Orangery  there  is  a fountain  in  which  we  see  a marble 
statue  representing  a woman  who  is  so  perfectly  rendered 
as  to  deceive  the  sight.” 

But  the  Diana  of  Anet,  now  in  the  Louvre,  suffices  for 
the  glory  of  Jean  Goujon.  This  superb  marble,  recovered 
by  Lenoir  from  the  barbarous  hands  of  the  destroyers  of 
the  chateau  of  Diana  of  Poitiers,  came  to  him  in  pieces. 
It  had  been  sawn  up  in  order  to  get  the  copper  tubing  that 
conveyed  the  water,  and  it  is  wonderful  that  the  sculptor 
Beauvallet  was  able  to  restore  it  in  the  condition  in  which 
this  masterpiece  of  Goujon’s  has  been  admired  for  a 
century. 1 

Diana,  nude,  seated  on  the  ground,  lays  her  right  arm 
around  the  neck  of  a stag  half-couched  beside  her.  Her 
left  hand  holds  a bow.  At  the  two  ends  of  the  plinth  that 

1 It  was  Lenoir  who  thought  he  saw  traces  of  sawing  in  the  fragments 
of  Diana  when  he  received  them,  but  since  it  was  necessary  to  put  pipes 
in  the  interior  of  the  statue,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Goujon  found  himself 
obliged  to  do  so  by  making  use  of  marble  in  several  pieces,  which  he 
afterwards  cemented  together.  He  could  not  manage  otherwise.  No- 
body could  pierce  a single  block  of  great  size  with  interior  canals  without 
breaking  it. 


3l6 


DIANA 


bears  the  statue  are  the  two  dogs  of  the  goddess.  A light 
drapery  falls  over  her  right  thigh.  The  manner  in  which 
her  hair  is  dressed,  the  tresses  being  raised  in  spirals  on  the 
top  of  the  head  and  mingled  with  jewellery,  marks  the 
period  in  which  the  sculptor  worked.  The  court  ladies  of 
the  Sixteenth  Century  wore  their  hair  in  that  style.  Her 
eyes  are  turned  towards  the  stag  on  which  she  is  gently  lean- 
ing : the  huntress  seems  apprehensive  regarding  its  inten- 
tion to  run  away.  The  expression  of  her  lips  is  one  of 
pride. 

This  group  deserves  attentive  study.  In  the  first  place 
it  would  be  puerile  to  look  for  the  image  of  the  daughter  of 
Jupiter  and  Latona  in  Goujon’s  Diana.  The  sculptor  has 
taken  no  pains  to  preserve  the  character  given  in  Greek 
mythology  to  the  sister  of  Apollo,  who  is  always  armed 
with  bow  and  arrows  and  roams  the  woods  accompanied 
by  her  favourite  stag  and  her  retinue  of  nymphs.  The 
severe  goddess  would  have  felt  outraged  at  being  deprived 
of  her  tunic  and  seeing  her  feet  unshod.  The  sculptor  of 
Diana  of  Poitiers,  being  charged  to  produce  a decorative 
statue,  wanted  to  exhibit  his  talent  in  treating  the  nude,  and 
the  mistress  of  the  Chateau  d’  Anet  bearing  the  name  of  a 
goddess  of  antiquity,  decorated  his  work  with  the  name  of 
that  goddess  by  lending  it  one  of  her  attributes.  But  the 
artist  here  evokes  the  memory  of  antiquity  somewhat  neg- 
ligently. There  is  nothing  Greek  in  the  head-dress  of  his 
divinity,  and  this  detail  has  led  more  than  one  critic  into 
error.  The  Diana  of  Anet  having  her  hair  arranged  in  the 


DIANA 


3l7 


mode  in  honour  in  the  Sixteenth  Century  some  people  have 
been  pleased  to  see  the  portrait  of  Diana  of  Poitiers  in  this 
marble.  It  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  Several  effigies  of  this 
celebrated  woman,  that  we  have  reason  to  believe  authentic, 
have  come  down  to  us.  The  outline  of  the  face,  the  hard- 
ness of  the  brow  and  the  guile  of  the  lips  are  altogether 
tacking  in  the  head  carved  by  Goujon.  In  one  word,  if 
the  Anet  marble  is  not  a just  conception  of  the  antique 
Diana,  neither  is  it  the  portrait  of  Diana  of  Poitiers.  Then 
what  is  it  ? It  is  a most  remarkable  piece  of  sculpture. 

It  has  been  said  that  with  regard  to  this  marble  Jean 
Goujon  indulged  a kind  of  emulation  in  his  desire  to  eclipse 
Cellini,  whose  bas-relief,  the  Nymph  of  Fountainebleau,  was 
possessed  by  the  Chateau  d’  Anet.  Goujon  has  certainly 
shown  his  superiority  over  the  Florentine  sculptor  in  ex- 
ecuting his  Diana.  But,  perhaps,  the  sight  of  the  work 
of  Cellini  may  have  been  injurious  to  the  French  master’s 
composition.  He  had  to  carve  a group,  and  yet  his  work 
is  conceived  in  the  style  of  a bas-relief,  that  is  to  say  that 
the  work  as  a whole  must  be  looked  at  under  one  single 
aspect.  The  huntress  and  the  stag  form  a picture  on  the 
same  side.  Looked  at  from  the  opposite  side,  the  group 
only  presents  the  two  dogs,  widely  separated  and  devoid  of 
action.  More  than  this,  Diana’s  left  leg  is  bent  in  a move- 
ment that  has  no  beauty.  These  criticisms  will  be  made 
by  anybody  who  attempts  to  judge  the  work  of  Goujon 
without  any  prejudice.  But  was  the  talented  master  abso- 
lutely free  to  compose  this  group  in  accordance  with  his 


318  DIANA 

own  will  ? We  do  not  think  so.  We  have  said  above 
that,  during  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  the  copper 
pipes  that  penetrated  the  interior  of  this  statue  were  taken 
out.  The  Diana  of  Anet  originally  dominated  the  fountain 
in  one  of  the  lateral  courts  of  the  chateau.  Androuet  Du- 
cerceau  took  the  trouble  to  make  a drawing  of  it.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  the  stag  and  the  two  dogs  placed  beside 
Diana  contributed  to  the  supply  of  the  basin  above  which 
they  were  placed.  Consequently,  the  exigencies  to  which 
Goujon  found  himself  subject  at  the  time  when  he  executed 
this  group  forbid  us  to  criticise  the  composition  of  the 
work. 

Now,  if  we  confine  ourselves  to  forming  some  apprecia- 
tion of  the  style  of  this  elegant  and  forceful  marble,  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  praise  the  master’s  talent  too  highly. 
Diana  is  an  incomparable  creation.  Even  if  her  body  is  of 
conventional  proportions,  and  her  limbs  excessively  long, 
and  her  hips  too  narrow,  an  infallible  sign  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood and  ascendancy  of  Primaticcio,  what  does  that 
matter  ? That  is  the  license  of  a master.  Art  ought  to 
be  the  interpretation  of  nature,  and  Jean  Goujon,  in  sculp- 
turing his  Diana,  treated  the  marble  with  the  ideal  concep- 
tion of  beauty  familiar  to  the  ancients.  No,  his  group  is 
not  Greek  in  idea;  it  is  not  Greek  in  its  arrangement  if 
we  examine  it  from  all  sides  ; but,  seen  from  the  front,  it 
attaches  itself  closely  to  the  antique  by  its  sober  and  re- 
strained form,  the  intentional  elimination  of  the  details,  the 
understanding  and  respect  of  the  broken  line,  the  limited 


DIANA 


3J9 

number  and  breadth  of  the  planes,  the  natural  pose,  and  the 
happy  equilibrium  of  the  movements.  Moreover  its  beauty 
reveals  itself  to  analysis.  It  commands  and  subjugates. 
It  would  be  an  entirely  superfluous  labour  to  trace  through 
every  point  of  this  superior  work  the  reasons  that  cause  it 
to  be  admired.  The  Diana  of  Anet  is  entirely  seductive ; 
but  it  is  the  spirit  and  not  the  senses  that  it  fascinates  and 
holds.  We  may  apply  to  it  the  judgment  that  Quatremere 
de  Quincy  pronounced  upon  the  Elgin  Marbles  when  he 
wrote  to  Canova  : u The  charm  of  these  statues  is  like  that 
of  grace : it  is  the  despair  of  those  who  want  to  know  the 
wherefore  of  everything.  E bella , perche  e bella .”  It  is 
beautiful  because  it  is  beautiful.  And  if  we  admit  that 
Jean  Goujon  can  have  seen  only  very  rare  fragments  of 
Greek  art,  the  intuition  of  the  past  in  him  approaches  the 
miraculous.  No  other  man  in  his  day  approached  antiquity 
with  the  easy  assurance,  the  frankness  and  the  distinction 
that  is  so  clearly  written  in  his  reliefs.  No  one  else  has 
made  life  circulate  in  hard  and  cold  marble  with  such  in- 
tensity as  characterizes  the  Naiads  of  the  Fountain  of  the 
Nymphs  and  the  Diana  of  Anet.  That  is  why  nobody  else 
can  dispute  with  him  the  title  of  sovereign  artist. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 

( Salvi  and  Lorenzo  Bernini , 1598-1686) 

EDWARD  HUTTON 

HORACE  tells  us  somewhere  that  he  is  the  friend  of 
fountains,  and  indeed,  no  true  Roman,  whether  of 
the  ancient  or  the  modern  world,  can  ever  have  been  with- 
out some  sentiment  for  them,  since,  in  fact,  they  are  the 
joy  of  Rome,  as  it  were,  a pleasant  and  joyful  voice ; for 
no  city  in  Europe  is  so  truly  a city  of  running  waters.  All 
day  long  they  waken  in  the  heart  some  mystery  of  delight  and 
refreshment ; — the  slender  jets  of  water  wavering  between 
the  cypresses  in  the  shadow,  flashing  in  the  sun,  splashing 
among  the  statues  on  the  cold  marble.  And  their  song  in 
the  cool,  diaphanous  mornings  of  spring  is  a song  of  life, 
of  joy,  of  the  brief  joy  of  life. 

And  like  most  of  that  which  is  eternal  in  Rome,  which 
is  wholly  characteristic  of  her  and  her  own,  the  fountains, 
the  song  of  the  fountains,  comes  to  us  hardly  changed 
from  the  Romans  who,  in  the  splendour  of  their  pride, 
conceived  this  luxury ; for  it  was  Agrippa,  the  son-in-law 
of  Augustus,  who  first  dreamed  of  this  beauty  and  re- 
freshment, and  endowed  the  city  with  a song.  To 
Agrippa  Rome  owed  much,  but  among  his  marvellous 
and  enormous  works  nothing  was  at  once  so  original,  so 
noble  and  so  enduring  as  this  which  he  contrived  during 


FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI,  ROME 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TRLVI 


321 


the  three  years  of  his  aedileship,  building  at  his  own  cost 
two  aqueducts,  a hundred  and  thirty  reservoirs,  a naumachia , 
several  baths  and  piscina,  and  more  than  two  hundred 
fountains,  which,  in  many  disguises,  for  the  most  part  re- 
main to  us,  they  and  their  children,  the  only  joyful  things 
in  the  fallen  city. 

The  splendid  gift  of  Agrippa  was  added  to  again  and  again. 
Caligula  and  Claudius,  not  to  be  outdone,  built  two  new 
aqueducts,  which  brought  to  the  city  as  much  water,  indeed, 
as  all  those  that  were  before  them  till  in  Trajan’s  time 
Rome  had  more  than  ten  aqueducts  feeding  some  thirteen 
hundred  fountains. 

And  these  joyful  and  pleasant  waters,  flashing  and  sing- 
ing in  the  hot  streets,  the  quiet  piazzas,  the  shady  gardens, 
were  the  pride  of  the  people  of  Rome,  and,  in  some  sort, 
their  most  precious  possession,  so  that  at  last  some  mystery 
seems  to  have  passed  into  them,  even  the  life  of  the  City 
itself,  and  we  find  Rome  defending  her  waters  when  she 
could  scarcely  hold  her  walls,  with  all  the  fierceness  of  a 
last  hope.  Were  they  not  her  life,  her  last  luxury,  her  last 
joy  ? Nor  was  she  robbed  of  them  till  537.  Vitiges  and 
his  Goths,  masters  of  the  Campagna,  broke  the  long  lines 
of  the  aqueducts,  and  left  them  as  we  now  see  them,  more 
wonderful  still  than  anything  else  within  or  without  the  City, 
lending  their  beauty  to  the  tragic  grandeur  and  solitude  of 
the  Campagna,  the  Latin  plain  ; and  Rome  was  silenced. 
That  blow  seems  to  have  been  fatal.  From  that  day  the 
City  gradually  became  the  appalling  ruin  that  she  remained 


322 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 


through  all  the  Middle  Age : till  in  the  Fifteenth  Century 
the  Popes  of  the  Renaissance,  wishing  to  restore  to  her  the 
leadership  of  the  world,  gave  her  back  her  waters,  and 
suddenly,  in  a moment,  as  though  by  enchantment,  she 
arose  once  more  out  of  the  wilderness  and  the  ruins,  healed 
and  whole  at  the  sound  of  that  song. 

Often  very  early  in  those  spring  mornings  which  are  so 
fair  in  Rome,  or  may  be  on  an  autumn  evening,  under  a 
moon  great  and  golden  as  the  sun,  I have  wandered  through 
the  city  of  fountains  for  the  sake  of  their  song.  It  begins 
with  the  strange  artificial  voice  of  Bernini’s  Barcaccia  in 
the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  where  the  Aqua  Vergine  falls  humbly 
at  the  feet  of  Madonna,  that  galley  of  war  shooting  forth 
from  her  guns,  not  death  but  refreshment.  Then,  as  I 
pass  into  the  silence  up  the  beautiful  Scala  di  Spagna,  and 
turn  towards  the  Pincio,  presently,  still  far  off,  I hear  the 
most  beautiful  voice  in  Rome,  the  single  melody,  languid, 
and  full  of  mystery  and  all  enchantment  of  the  fountain 
before  the  Villa  Medici,  where,  under  the  primeval  ilex,  a 
single  jet  of  water  towers  like  some  exquisite  slender  lily  to 
droop,  to  fall  in  unimagined  loveliness  into  the  brimming 
vase  of  marble,  so  admirably  simple  and  in  place  under 
those  sacred  trees,  before  that  lofty  villa,  which  in  some 
sort  dominates  the  whole  City,  and  whence  one  may  look 
across  the  towers  and  domes  to  the  Capitol,  to  St.  Peter’s, 
to  the  Campagna  stretching  away  to  the  sea. 

No  other  fountain  in  Rome  is  at  once  so  simple  and  so 
beautiful  as  this,  nor  is  there  another  which  commands  so 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI  323 

wide  and  so  majestic  a prospect.  And  yet,  if  one  passes 
down  the  slope  of  the  Pincio  into  the  Piazza  del  Popolo, 
and  so  crossing  the  Ponte  Margherita,  and  passing  at  last 
under  the  height  of  the  Vatican,  comes  at  last  into  the 
Piazza  di  S.  Pietro,  one  finds  there,  in  one  of  the  holiest 
and  most  famous  places  in  the  City,  two  fountains,  quite  as 
beautiful  in  their  way,  though  truly  less  simple,  singing 
ever  before  the  threshold  of  the  shrine  of  the  Apostle. 
Rising  in  the  shape,  as  it  were,  of  fleurs  de  lys , the  water 
harmonizes  perfectly,  not  only  with  the  fountains  them- 
selves, but  with  the  beautiful  piazza  in  which  they  are  so 
marvellously  placed,  forming  together  with  it  the  master- 
piece of  Bernini.  Here,  indeed,  we  have  a beauty  wholly 
artificial  and  architectural,  perhaps  the  one  perfect  thing 
that  the  Seventeenth  Century  contrived  in  that  art.  We 
shall  find  an  early  effort  of  that  period,  more  romantic, 
both  in  its  situation  and  contrivance,  if  we  climb  the 
Janiculum,  and  passing  along  its  height  through  the  Pas- 
saggiata  Margherita,  come  at  last,  above  the  Church  of  S. 
Pietro  in  Montorio,  on  the  immense  Aqua  Paolina,  the 
ancient  Aqua  Trajana,  which  draws  its  waters  from  Lago 
di  Bracciano,  more  than  thirty  miles  away.  The  fountain, 
a huge  facade,  the  work  of  Fontana  and  Maderna,  under 
Paul  V.  in  1611,  was  built  out  of  the  materials  of  older 
buildings ; the  marble  is  from  the  Temple  of  Minerva  in 
the  Forum  of  Nerva,  the  granite  pillars  from  the  vestibule 
of  old  St.  Peter’s.  In  spite  of  the  grandiose  beauty  which 
harmonizes  well  with  the  site,  it  seems,  perhaps — for  here 


324 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 


our  eyes  turn  always  back  to  the  solitude  of  the  Campagna 
— a mere  empty  boast,  full  of  sound  and  fury  signifying 
nothing. 

From  the  Aqua  Paolina,  in  my  early  morning  pilgrim- 
age, I always  pass  down  into  the  Piazza  d’  Italia  and  go 
across  the  Ponte  Garibaldi,  through  the  Via  Arenula  and 
the  Via  dei  Falegnami  into  the  Piazza  Mattei,  where,  be- 
fore the  palace,  stands  the  delicate  and  lovely  Fountain  of 
the  Tortoises,  built  in  1585  by  Giacomo  della  Porta  and 
Taddeo  Landini.  Nothing  in  Rome  is  more  alluring  in  a 
certain  lightness  and  finesse  than  this  fountain,  where  four 
slim  youths,  grouped  round  a vase  of  water,  hold  each  a 
tortoise,  which  drains  the  upper  basin. 

From  here  it  is  but  a step  back  into  Piazza  Benedetto 
Cairoli,  and  so  through  Via  di  Giubbonari  in  the  Campo  di 
Fiore  and  Piazza  Farnese,  whose  two  fountains  remind  us 
in  their  spacious  setting  of  those  in  the  Piazza  di  S.  Pietro. 
Then  crossing  the  Corso  between  the  palaces  we  come  to 
the  Piazza  Navona,  where  stands  the  most  extraordinary, 
perhaps,  of  all  Bernini’s  works,  the  brilliant  but  bizarre 
fountain  with  its  obelisk  and  statues  personifying  the  four 
great  rivers  of  the  world. 

It  is  again  to  a work  of  Bernini  we  come,  as,  passing  on 
through  the  City,  we  stand  at  last  before  the  great  Foun- 
tain of  Trevi,  which  resembles  the  Aqua  Paolina,  and 
which  may  be  heard  above  all  the  noise  of  the  piazza. 
And  it  is  fitting  that,  since  Rome  is  the  city  of  fountains, 
to  make  sure  of  one’s  return  to  her,  it  should  be  necessary 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI  325 

to  make  an  offering,  not  at  the  grave  of  Romulus,  nor  at 
the  shrine  of  St.  Peter,  but  to  the  greatest  and  most  famous 
of  her  fountains,  for  it  is  said  whoever,  at  the  hour  of  de- 
parture, drinks  a cup  of  the  water  of  Trevi  and  pays  for  it, 
has  not  looked  on  Rome  for  the  last  time. 

The  hour  of  departure,  if  indeed  you  keep  it  in  the  time- 
honoured  way,  and  make  your  offering  there  in  Piazza 
Trevi,  will  lead  you  by  the  way  of  my  morning  pilgrimage, 
first  into  Piazza  Barberini  where  another  of  Bernini’s  foun- 
tains, the  Fountain  of  the  Triton,  still  stands,  and  then 
by  the  Via  Quattro  Fontane,  past  the  four  fountains,  and 
so  turning  to  the  left  there,  past  the  Aqua  Felice  into  the 
Piazza  delle  Terme  and  the  Railway  Station.  And  it  is 
well  that  your  last  thought  in  Rome,  as  indeed  your  first 
has  been,  should  be  one  of  astonishment,  your  last  spectacle 
the  sight  of  a fountain.  For,  as  it  happens,  the  modern 
Romans  are  not  less  in  love  with  the  sound  and  sight  of 
running  water  than  were  their  fathers  of  old.  And  while 
all  the  other  fountains  in  Rome  are  restorations  of  works 
of  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries,  here,  for  our 
encouragement,  to  greet  us  when  we  enter,  to  greet  us 
when  we  depart,  our  Rome  too  has  set  up  a great  fountain 
of  splashing  water.  Of  all  the  modern  works  of  art  in 
Rome  it  pleases  one  most.  It  is  true  that  it  is  vulgar,  flam- 
boyant and  eccentric,  full,  indeed,  of  every  sort  of  astonish- 
ment. But  in  the  luxury  of  its  design,  in  the  extraordinary 
gesture  of  its  figures,  in  the  splendour  and  gladness  of  its 
waters,  it  is  to  me  a sign  and  a symbol  of  the  new  Rome, 


326  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 

which,  though  she  be  indeed  less  noble,  or  at  least  less 
strong  than  of  old,  is  yet  living  and  ready  to  entertain  us : 
and  we,  too,  may  hear  in  her  streets,  as  Horace  did  so  long 
ago,  “ The  splash  of  fountains  with  jets  of  water  clear.” 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 1 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 


O they  set  forth,  and  had  gone  but  a little  way,  when 


the  narrow  street  emerged  into  a piazza,  on  one  side 
of  which,  glistening  and  dimpling  in  the  moonlight,  was 
the  most  famous  fountain  in  Rome.  Its  murmur — not  to 
say  its  uproar — had  been  in  the  ears  of  the  company,  ever 
since  they  came  into  the  open  air.  It  was  the  Fountain 
of  Trevi,  which  draws  its  precious  water  from  a source  far 
beyond  the  walls,  whence  it  flows  hitherward  through  old 
subterranean  aqueducts,  and  sparkles  forth  as  pure  as  the 
virgin  who  first  led  Agrippa  to  its  well-spring,  by  her  father’s 


1 The  Fontana  di  Trevi,  the  most  magnificent  public  fountain  in  Rome, 
was  completed  in  1762  from  a design  by  Nice.  Salvi  (1735)  aided  by  a 
drawing  by  Bernini.  The  figure  of  Neptune  in  the  central  niche  is  by 
Pietro  Bracci.  Health  is  on  the  right  and  Fertility  on  the  left.  The  old 
Aqua  Virgo  which  issues  from  this  spot  was  conducted  by  M.  Agrippa 
from  the  Campagna  by  a subterranean  channel  to  supply  his  baths  beside 
the  Pantheon.  It  enters  the  city  near  the  Villa  Medici.  The  fountain 
was  restored  by  Claudius  in  46  A.  D.,  as  the  inscription  tells  us  and  again 
by  Pope  Hadrian  I.  and  Nicholas  V.  The  latter  in  1453  brought  the 
main  stream  of  the  aqueduct  here  and  the  name  of  the  fountain  exchanged 
its  ancient  name  for  Trevi  (a  corruption  of  Trivio — three  outlets).  On 
leaving  Rome  travellers  take  a drink  from  the  fountain  of  Trevi  and 
throw  in  a coin  in  the  romantic  hope,  or  superstitious  belief,  that  they  will 
be  sure  to  return. — E.  S. 


door. 


328 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 


“ I shall  sip  as  much  of  this  water  as  the  hollow  of  my 
hand  will  hold,”  said  Miriam.  “ I am  leaving  Rome  in  a 
few  days ; and  the  tradition  goes  that  a parting  draught  at 
the  Fountain  of  Trevi  insures  the  traveller’s  return,  what- 
ever obstacles  and  improbabilities  may  seem  to  beset  him. 
Will  you  drink,  Donatello  ? ” 

u Signorina,  what  you  drink,  I drink,”  said  the  youth. 

They  and  the  rest  of  the  party  descended  some  steps  to 
the  water’s  brim,  and  after  a sip  or  two,  stood  gazing  at 
the  absurd  design  of  the  fountain,  where  some  sculptor  of 
Bernini’s  school  had  gone  absolutely  mad  in  marble.  It 
was  a great  palace-front,  with  niches  and  many  bas-reliefs, 
out  of  which  looked  Agrippa’s  legendary  virgin,  and  several 
of  the  allegoric  sisterhood  ; while,  at  the  base,  appeared 
Neptune,  with  his  floundering  steeds  and  Tritons  blowing 
their  horns  about  him,  and  twenty  other  artificial  fantasies, 
which  the  calm  moonlight  soothed  into  better  taste  than 
was  native  to  them. 

And  after  all,  it  was  as  magnificent  a piece  of  work  as 
ever  human  skill  contrived.  At  the  foot  of  the  palatial 
facade  was  strown,  with  careful  art  and  ordered  irregularity, 
a broad  and  broken  heap  of  massive  rock,  looking  as  if  it 
might  have  lain  there  since  the  deluge.  Over  a central 
precipice  fell  the  water,  in  a semicircular  cascade ; and 
from  a hundred  crevices,  on  all  sides,  snowy  jets  gushed  up 
and  streams  spouted  out  of  the  mouths  and  nostrils  of  stone 
monsters,  and  fell  in  glistening  drops  ; while  other  rivulets 
that  had  run  wild,  came  leaping  from  one  rude  step  to 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 


329 


another,  over  stones  that  were  mossy,  slimy  and  green  with 
sedge,  because,  in  a century  of  their  wild  play,  Nature  had 
adopted  the  Fountain  of  Trevi,  with  all  its  elaborate  de- 
vices, for  her  own.  Finally,  the  water,  tumbling,  sparkling 
and  dashing,  with  joyous  haste  and  never-ceasing  murmur, 
poured  itself  into  a great  marble-brimmed  reservoir,  and 
filled  it  with  a quivering  tide  ; on  which  was  seen,  con- 
tinually, a snowy  semicircle  of  momentary  foam  from  the 
principal  cascade,  as  well  as  a multitude  of  snow-points 
from  smaller  jets.  The  basin  occupied  the  whole  breadth 
of  the  piazza,  whence  flights  of  steps  descended  to  its 
border.  A boat  might  float  and  make  voyages  from  one 
shore  to  another  in  this  mimic  lake. 

In  the  daytime,  there  is  hardly  a livelier  scene  in  Rome 
than  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Fountain  of  Trevi;  for  the 
piazza  is  then  filled  with  the  stalls  of  vegetable  and  fruit- 
dealers,  chestnut-roasters,  cigar  vendors  and  other  people, 
whose  petty  and  wandering  traffic  is  transacted  in  the 
open  air.  It  is  likewise  thronged  with  idlers,  lounging 
over  the  iron  railing  and  with  forestieri , who  come  hither 
to  see  the  famous  fountain.  Here,  also,  are  seen  men  with 
buckets,  urchins  with  cans,  and  maidens  (a  picture  as  old 
as  the  patriarchal  times)  bearing  their  pitchers  upon  their 
heads.  For  the  water  of  Trevi  is  in  request,  far  and  wide, 
as  the  most  refreshing  draught  for  feverish  lips,  the 
pleasantest  to  mingle  with  wine,  and  the  wholesomest  to 
drink,  in  its  native  purity,  that  can  anywhere  be  found. 
But,  now,  at  nearly  midnight,  the  piazza  was  a solitude; 


33° 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TREVI 


and  it  was  a delight  to  behold  this  untamable  water, 
sporting  by  itself  in  the  moonshine,  and  compelling  all 
the  elaborate  trivialities  of  art  to  assume  a natural  aspect 
in  accordance  with  its  own  powerful  simplicity. 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 

( Antonio  Canova , 1757-1821) 

COUNTESS  D’  ALBRIZZI 

THE  most  difficult  task  that  the  anger  and  jealousy  of 
Venus  prompted  her  to  impose  on  the  unfortunate 
Psyche  was  that  of  the  descent  to  Erebus,  to  obtain  of 
Proserpine  a portion  of  her  charms,  as  women  are  every- 
where jealous,  above  all  things,  of  their  beauty,  as  the 
source  of  the  unlimited  homage  which  they  enjoy  ; but 
Cupid,  who  with  unceasing  care  watched  over  the  perilous 
destiny  of  his  fair  mistress,  inspired  her  with  the  means 
of  succeeding  in  the  dangerous  embassy.  Psyche,  thus 
having  obtained  the  gift  of  Proserpine,  had  no  sooner 
emerged  from  the  gloomy  realms  of  Pluto  into  the  cheering 
light  of  day,  than  an  irresistible  curiosity  arose  in  her 
mind  to  see  the  contents  of  the  box  in  which  her  charge 
was  contained.  Seating  herself,  therefore,  on  a stone,  she 
raised  the  fatal  lid,  but  instead  of  aught  that  could  charm 
or  delight,  a dense  and  pestiferous  vapour  issued  from  it, 
which  deprived  her  of  sense,  and  she  fell  lifeless  on  the 
earth.  Cupid  by  this  time  had  flown  to  her  succour,  and 
by  his  efforts  recalled  her  to  life. 

Canova  has  taken  the  moment  when  the  beautiful  Psyche, 
recovering  from  her  insensibility,  throws  back  her  lovely 
head,  from  which  her  charming  tresses  fall  down  in  richly 


332 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 


flowing  ringlets,  and  opens  her  eyes  on  her  beloved  hus- 
band; he,  resting  on  one  knee  upon  the  ground,  and 
bending  over  her,  gazes  with  rapture  in  her  beautiful  face, 
his  left  hand  tenderly  encircling  her,  and  reaching  to  her 
swelling  bosom,  while  with  the  other  he  supports  her  lovely 
head  : his  tender  and  entreating  attitude  is  that  of  one  who 
sues  for  a kiss,  which  in  other  moments  has  not  been  denied 
to  him,  while  she,  consenting  with  equal  fondness,  raises 
her  arms,  and  placing  her  hands  caressingly  on  his  head, 
draws  gently  his  lips  towards  her  own. 

Surely  the  virgin  graces  and  the  innocent  loves  gave  all 
their  aid  to  Canova  while  forming  this  charming  composi- 
tion ; and  with  such  tender  and  subduing  sensations  does 
this  lovely  pair,  so  enchantingly  grouped,  affect  the  be- 
holder, that  his  heart  is  disposed  to  love  every  object  that  is 
dear  to  him  with  increased  affection.1 

1 This  work  was  executed  in  1793,  in  Carrara  marble  for  Colonel 
Campbell,  afterwards  Earl  Brownlow;  after  various  changes  it  was 
possessed  by  Murat,  and  placed  in  the  royal  palace  of  Compiegne  near 
Paris.  The  model  was  made  in  1787.  The  group  was  repeated  in  1796 
for  the  Russian  Prince  Youssouppoff. 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE,  VILLA  CARLOTTA,  LAKE  COMO 
By  Canova 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 


COUNT  CICOGNARA 


ANOVA’S  susceptibility  and  active  fancy  gave  great 


quickness  and  energy  to  his  invention,  prompting 
his  imagination  spontaneously  and  without  effort  to  reach 
the  great  and  excellent  in  his  designs.  He  usually  threw 
his  first  thoughts  on  paper  in  a few  slight  outlines,  which 
he  often  varied  and  retouched  and  then  sketched  in  clay 
or  wax,  in  small  dimensions : with  this  he  studied  the 
composition  of  his  subject,  which  was  afterwards  transferred 
to  the  full  sized  model,  and  perfected  with  all  the  resources 
of  his  genius  and  art. 

The  fascinating  influence  which  the  grace  and  beauty 
of  his  female  figures  exercises  on  the  senses  and  the  emotion 
produced  by  their  tender  and  voluptuous  expression,  has 
caused  him  to  be  called  by  many,  the  ct  Sculptor  of  Venus 
and  the  Graces  ” ; but  it  will  not  surely  be  said  by 
posterity  that  the  statues  of  the  three  pontiffs,  the  colossal 
groups  of  Hercules  and  Lichas,  and  of  Theseus  and  the 
Centaur,  the  Pugilists,  Hector  and  Ajax,  Washington,  the 
colossal  statue  of  Napoleon,  the  group  of  the  Piety,  or  the 
Equestrian  Monuments  of  Naples,  were  imagined  in  the 
gardens  of  Cythera. 

The  opponents  of  Canova  have  also  charged  him  with 
not  having  confined  himself  to  the  use  of  the  chisel  in  his 


334 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 


marbles,  and  with  having  had  recourse  to  factitious  means 
of  giving  to  them  an  extreme  softness  and  delicacy ; which, 
if  it  had  been  the  case,  would  only  have  been  following,  in 
modern  times,  the  example  of  Nicias,  who  produced  these 
effects  by  his  washes  on  the  marbles  of  Praxiteles;  but 
Canova  rarely  used  any  other  means  than  that  of  washing 
his  marbles  after  they  had  received  their  polish  with  acqua 
di  rota ; their  soft  and  delicate  surface  being  produced  solely 
by  his  consummate  chisel  and  the  diligent  use  of  the  file; 
unlike  other  sculptors,  who  think  they  have  no  more  to  do 
with  their  work  when  they  have  finished  the  model  and 
left  its  execution  to  the  hands  of  subordinate  artists.  The 
exquisite  finish  of  the  extremities,  which  his  statues  so 
peculiarly  possess,  may  be  attributed  to  the  same  causes. 

The  degree  in  which  Canova  approximated  to  the 
excellency  of  Grecian  art,  is  shown  in  his  masterly  manner 
of  treating  those  bold  and  novel  conceptions,  for  which 
neither  antiquity  nor  the  age  of  Leo  had  afforded  him  any 
precedent,  and  in  which  he  stood  entirely  alone  and  original. 
These  possess  a justness  and  propriety  of  style,  a freedom 
from  all  extravagancy,  while  the  character  and  attributes 
peculiar  to  each  work  are  never  confounded  together.  In 
all  his  various  productions,  we  always  can  admire  a 
scrupulous  perfection  in  the  extremities,  a charming  sweet- 
ness of  contour,  and  a peculiar  grace,  but  without  affecta- 
tion, in  the  motion  of  the  neck,  giving  a fine  expression  to 
the  head  and  graceful  disposition  of  the  shoulders  ; but  his 
marbles  are  above  all  distinguished  by  the  exquisite  repre- 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 


335 


sentation  of  the  flesh  and  appearances  of  the  skin  ; without, 
however,  degenerating  into  a minute  and  servile  imitation. 
He  seems  to  have  proceeded  by  first  impressing  on  his 
statues  all  the  divinity  of  his  beau-ideal  and  afterwards  to 
recall  them,  if  it  may  be  so  expressed,  to  humanity,  by 
scattering  here  and  there  those  traces  of  reality,  which  his 
attentive  observation  of  the  natural  supplied  ; these  masterly 
strokes  raised  his  figures  into  life,  all  the  softness  and 
delicacy  of  which  were  added  by  his  last  fine  touches. 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 

(Bertel  Thorwaldsen , 1770-1844) 

EUGENE  PLON 

HORWALDSEN  had  been  living  out  of  his  native 


land  for  twenty-three  years  before  he  found  leisure 
to  revisit  it.  He  went  in  the  first  instance  to  Florence, 
then  to  Parma,  and  to  Milan,  where  he  remained  only  a 
short  time.  He  afterwards  went  through  the  pass  of  the 
Simplon  to  Lucerne  whither  he  was  summoned  to  advise 
upon  the  measures  to  be  taken  for  the  erection  by  Switzer- 
land of  a monument  to  the  memory  of  her  sons  who  were 
slain  defending  the  Tuileries  on  the  memorable  tenth  of 
August,  1792. 

Every  one  knows  the  incidents  of  that  fatal  day  which 
preceded  the  fall  of  royalty.  While  Louis  XVL,  u to  spare 
the  people  the  commission  of  a great  crime, ” allowed  him- 
self to  be  taken  before  the  Assembly,  who  were,  a few 
hours  later,  to  vote  for  the  deposition  of  the  King,  the  peo- 
ple rushed  upon  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  which  was  then 
occupied  only  by  a few  faithful  servants  of  the  Royal 
Family,  gentlemen,  National  Guards,  and  Switzers.  Hand- 
ful as  they  were,  they,  nevertheless,  repulsed  the  assailants, 
and  they  would  perhaps  have  completely  dispersed  the  mob, 
if  the  King  had  not  sent  them  orders  to  withdraw,  and  not 


LION  OF  LUCERNE 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 


337 


to  fire  upon  the  people.  A few  of  the  unfortunate  Switzers, 
to  whom  it  had  not  been  possible  to  make  known  the 
King’s  orders,  remained  in  the  palace.  They  were  exposed 
to  the  full  fury  of  the  popular  frenzy,  and  were  mercilessly 
massacred,  useless  but  heroic  victims  of  devotion  to  a lost 
cause.  Commandant  PfyfFer  von  Altishofen,  an  officer  of 
this  loyal  Swiss  Guard,  escaped  from  the  victorious  mob, 
and  retired  to  Lucerne,  where  he  projected  the  erection  of 
a monument  to  the  memory  of  his  unfortunate  comrades  in 
his  own  garden.  But  all  Switzerland  adopted  the  idea, 
numerous  subscribers  joined  eagerly  in  it,  and  several 
sovereign  princes  desired  to  associate  themselves  with  the 
memorial.  The  Swiss  ambassador  at  Rome,  M.  Vincent 
Riittiman,  begged  Thorwaldsen  to  undertake  the  execution 
of  the  monument. 

Although  he  was  in  bad  health  at  the  time,  and  but  little 
disposed  to  accept  new  commissions,  Thorwaldsen  would 
not  disregard  this  request.  He  made  a sketch  model,  repre- 
senting a couchant  lion,  mortally  wounded,  with  his  head 
lying  upon  the  royal  shield  of  France,  which  he  holds  be- 
tween his  claws.  The  conception  of  the  artist  is  worthy 
of  the  nobility  of  the  subject.  The  majestic  simplicity  of 
the  composition  is  worthy  of  the  chivalrous  devotion  whose 
memory  it  perpetuates.  One  of  Thorwaldsen’s  pupils, 
Bienaime,  was  entrusted  with  the  working  out  of  the  model, 
which  the  master  then  retouched.  Thorwaldsen,  who  had 
never  seen  a living  lion,  made  his  studies  from  the  antique. 
The  cast  was  sent  to  Lucerne  in  the  beginning  of  1819. 


338  the  lion  of  lucerne 

It  had  been  at  first  intended  that  the  monument  should  be 
executed  in  bronze,  but  Thorwaldsen’s  advice  led  to  the 
abandonment  of  that  design.  A vast  niche,  ten  yards  high, 
was  dug  out  of  the  side  of  the  rocky  hill,  and  the  sculptor 
Lucas  Ahorn  hewed  the  colossal  lion,  after  the  model,  out 
of  the  solid  rock  itself.  The  work  was  begun  in  March, 
1820,  and  finished  in  August,  1821. 

The  following  description  is  from  the  French  of  M. 
Arthur  Ponroy  : 

u Imagine  a profound  and  mysterious  retreat  reached  by 
tortuous  and  descending  paths.  On  the  left  hand  is  a 
chalet , which  you  might  touch  with  your  hand ; forty  paces 
in  advance  is  the  naked  rock,  cut  sheer  as  if  it  had  been 
cleft  in  two  by  a thunderbolt,  with  natural  fissures  across 
the  granite  strata,  rude,  fantastic  furrows  which  might 
have  been  ploughed  by  the  lightning.  At  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  is  a large  expanse  of  motionless  greenish  water ; 
on  the  two  sides  rise  groves  of  larch  trees,  whose  dark, 
melancholy  tops  are  lost  among  the  grim  dome  of  magnifi- 
cent oaks.  An  invisible  waterfall  in  the  background  sends 
its  murmuring  waters  to  feed  that  Dead  Sea,  in  which  noth- 
ing lives  except  the  ever-renewed  plaint  of  the  funereal 
legend.  Here  and  there  through  fissures  in  the  gray  rock 
puny  threads  of  water  filter,  endless  tears  forever  flowing, 
and  stones  which  weep  as  though  to  keep  in  eternal  re- 
membrance within  those  grand  depths  the  law  of  majestic 
sorrow  imposed  upon  them  by  genius. 

u lllacrymat  templis  ehur , ceraque  sudant  ! 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 


339 


“Twenty  feet  above  the  lake,  at  the  back  of  a gigantic 
niche,  hollowed  by  the  hand  of  man  in  the  rock,  a dying 
lion  crouches — a lion  three  times  as  large  as  life ; his  flank 
is  pierced  by  a broken  spear ; his  eyes,  half-shut,  are  terri- 
ble ; one  of  his  enormous  paws  hangs  over  the  water,  which 
reflects  it;  the  other  still  clutches  the  raised  fleur-de-lis 
upon  a shield,  and  in  all  this  magnificent  image  there 
breathes  heroic  strength  and  power,  together  with  a senti- 
ment of  honour  that  touches  the  heart  and  fills  it  with 
serenity.  Then  when  your  eyes  droop  under  the  imposing 
grandeur  of  this  spectacle,  behold  a prodigy  of  art ! You 
see  it  again  in  the  water,  reflected  with  green  and  gray 
tints  which  lend  a fierce  energy  to  this  formidable  composi- 
tion, making  it  something  fantastic  and  mysterious,  like 
the  wrath  of  Dante  and  the  great  sadness  of  Shakespeare.” 

The  genius  of  Thorwaldsen  was  eminently  creative ; he 
worked  in  the  clay  with  extreme  ardour,  until  he  had  set 
free  from  it  the  form  which  he  had  imagined,  until  he  had 
given  it  the  imprint  of  the  thought  which  he  had  conceived. 
When  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  clay  had  adequately  ren- 
dered his  ideas,  he  executed  a plaster  from  it  himself,  which 
he  generally  finished  very  carefully ; then  he  gave  this  to 
his  workmen  as  a model,  and  it  was  their  business  to  trans- 
late it  into  marble.  This  was  done  under  his  own  eyes  in 
his  workshops ; he  constantly  superintended  the  work, 
frequently  retouched  it,  sometimes  finished  it  himself. 

This  method  of  proceeding  led  artists  who  were  jealous 
of  his  success  to  say  that  no  doubt  he  modelled  very  well. 


340 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 


but  he  was  incapable  of  sculpturing  marble.  One  day  this 
was  repeated  to  him,  and  he  said : w Bring  me  a block  of 
Carrara  or  Parian,  take  away  my  chisel,  tie  my  hands,  and 
I will  make  a statue  come  out  of  it  with  my  teeth.” 

Is  it  to  be  regretted  that  Thorwaldsen  did  not  put  his 
own  hand  to  the  execution  of  all  his  productions  ? If  he 
had  done  so  we  might  have  gained  a few  statues  equal  in 
perfection  to  the  Adonis  (in  Munich)  at  the  cost  of  losing 
some  of  the  finest  productions  of  the  sculptor’s  genius. 
We  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  greatest  of  the  Greek 
sculptors  acted  in  this  respect  as  the  Danish  artist  did.  A 
learned  critic  affirms  that  they  even  divided  their  works 
into  several  pieces,  so  that  a greater  number  of  auxiliaries 
might  assist  them  simultaneously. 

“ Considered  in  itself,”  says  M.  Henri  Delaborde  (in 
comparing  Canova  and  Thorwaldsen),  “ the  manner  of  the 
author  of  the  Magdalen,  the  Dancers  and  the  Venus  of  the 
Pitti  Palace  is  agreeable  rather  than  beautiful.  It  indicates 
the  artist’s  desire  to  conform  to  the  antique  examples,  but 
those  examples  are  refined  away  by  Canova’s  adjustment 
of  them  to  the  narrow  limits  of  modern  taste.  He  over- 
lays the  Greek  simplicity  with  a pretentious  grace — with 
an  equivocal  elegance ; in  a word,  he  treats  antiquity  like 
nature,  he  embellishes  them  both.  By  almost  hiding  his 
personal  responsibility  under  the  semblance  of  classic  style, 
he  succeeds  in  adroitly  counterfeiting  an  appearance,  but 
not  in  expressing  a truth  with  the  power  of  a master. 

“ The  genius  and  the  aspiration  of  Thorwaldsen  were  of 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 


341 


a totally  different  order.  Though  he  occasionally  sought  for 
elegance  and  found  it,  as,  for  example,  in  his  Night,  or  in 
his  Murcurv  putting  Argus  to  Sleep,  he  generally  strove 
for  grandeur  only,  and  he  sometimes  attained  that  end.  His 
Lion  of  Switzerland,  his  bas-reliefs  representing  the 
Triumph  of  Alexander,  and  many  of  his  allegorical  figures 
bear  the  impress  of  imagination  and  power.,, 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN 

( John  Flaxman * 1755-1826) 

ERNEST  H.  SHORT 

PERHAPS  no  modern  artist  has  produced  work  more 
nearly  approaching  the  sculpture  of  Greece  in  spirit. 
In  Flaxman’s  best  known  work,  the  Michael  and  Satan, 
we  can  trace  a severe  restraint  which  is  foreign  to  the  more 
florid  styles  of  Canova  and  Thorwaldsen  and  which  brings 
the  Englishman  far  closer  to  the  masters  of  the  Hellenic 
school  whom  he  sought  to  follow.  He  equalled  either 
Canova  or  Thorwaldsen  in  fertility  and  purity  of  design, 
particularly  in  bas-relief.  But  Flaxman  also  suffered  as  they 
had  done  from  a too  close  adherence  to  the  eclectic  influ- 
ences derived  from  Winckelmann.  When  Flaxman  sought 
to  portray  the  intense  passions,  his  borrowed  style  betrayed 
him.  If  intensity  of  emotion  was  of  little  moment  in 
sculpture,  Flaxman  would  rank  among  the  immortals.  As 
a fact,  we  know  that  it  constitutes  its  very  life.  Con- 
sequently, one  can  only  regret  that  it  was  not  given  to  the 
first  great  English  sculptor  to  emulate  the  achievements  of 
Gainsborough  and  Reynolds,  and  evolve  a style  capable  of 
expressing  the  manifold  energies  of  his  age  in  marble  as 
truly  as  they  did  on  canvas.  As  it  was,  the  genius  of 
Flaxman  only  served  to  perpetuate  a false  ideal.  His  Eng- 
lish followers  made  no  effort  to  rid  themselves  of  the 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN,  SOUTH  KENSINGTON  MUSEUM 
By  Flaxman 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN  343 

methods  which  had  marred  even  the  finest  work  of  the 
earlier  masters  of  their  school.  Truth  to  tell,  Flaxman’s 
reputation  depends  much  more  upon  his  non-sculptural 
work  than  it  does  upon  his  marbles — upon  his  Homeric 
illustrations,  upon  his  drawings,  with  their  mysterious 
reminiscenses  of  Blake,  for  instance.  Flaxman’s  facility 
in  design  was  so  tremendous  that  it  alone  made  him  stand 
out  far  above  his  fellow  sculptors.  Added  to  this  there  is  a 
certain  natural  austerity  in  his  sculptures  which  distinguishes 
them  from  the  conventional  theatricalities  of  the  earlier 
Eighteenth  Century  artists  and  the  Georgian  and  early 
Victorian  sentimentalities  which  followed.  But  it  would 
be  untrue  to  suggest  that  as  a sculptor  he  rose  superior  to 
his  age.  Weighed  in  the  scale  of  European  art,  ancient 
and  modern,  the  life-work  of  Flaxman  contains  the  same 
lesson  as  that  of  Canova  and  Thorwaldsen.  It  stands  as  a 
perpetual  memorial  of  the  eternal  law,  that  no  living  art 
can  be  built  upon  a borrowed  style — even  though  that  style 
be  Greek. 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN 

E.  S.  ROSCOE 

FLAXMAN  is  undoubtedly  entitled  to  be  considered 
the  chief  among  English  sculptors  through  the  power 
of  his  mind,  his  mastery  of  composition  and  his  actual 
knowledge  of  his  art.  He  is  essentially  the  founder  of  the 
modern  school  of  English  sculpture,  which  with  innumer- 
able imperfections  and  backslidings  has,  by  reason  of  many 
of  its  productions,  maintained  from  FI  ax  man’s  time  a con- 
sistently higher  level  than  it  approached  before  he  showed 
his  countrymen,  both  by  the  example  of  his  works  and  the 
precepts  of  his  lectures,  the  road  which  they  should  follow. 
The  spirit  of  Greece  and  the  spirit  of  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury are  combined  in  his  works.  With  Flaxman  begins 
quite  a new  period  in  this  division  of  English  art,  and  with 
him  ends,  taken  as  a whole,  the  exaggeration,  the  realism 
and  the  metaphorical  conceits  of  which  Roubiliac,  Nolle- 
kens  and  Bacon  were  the  chiefs.  And  regarded  without  re- 
lation to  the  history  of  art,  Flaxman’s  works  are  worthy  of 
the  most  thoughtful  study  from  their  intrinsic  merit  and 
beauty.  Like  all  works  which  attain  a really  high  standard 
and  are  the  productions  of  true  genius,  they  bear  very 
minute  observation,  and  the  more  and  longer  that  they  are 
considered,  the  higher  will  undoubtedly  be  the  opinion 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN  345 

which  will  be  formed  of  them,  and  the  greater  the  pleasure 
which  they  will  afford. 

Flaxman  was  born  at  York  in  1755.  His  father  was  a 
modeller,  who  shortly  after  his  birth  removed  to  London 
and  settled  down  in  New  Street,  Covent  Garden.  Thus 
we  find  in  him,  as  in  Thorwaldsen,  a development  of  he- 
reditary taste  or  pursuit.  His  youth  soon  showed  signs  of 
the  rich  future  that  was  before  him ; indeed  Wordsworth’s 
often-quoted  and  frequently  inapplicable  line  that  u the  boy 
is  father  of  the  man,”  is  most  truly  and  usually  exempli- 
fied in  the  careers  of  celebrated  artists.  Very  early  he  de- 
veloped a taste  for  modelling  and  drawing,  in  which  doubt- 
less he  was  eagerly  encouraged  by  his  father,  who  perceived 
in  his  quiet  and  delicate  son  the  most  docile  and  the  most 
apt  of  workmen  in  the  future.  By  the  year  1775  Flaxman 
the  younger  had  clearly  obtained  a very  considerable  though 
it  may  be  narrow  reputation  as  a modeller,  and  in  that  year 
— the  year  of  his  commencing  to  work  for  Wedgwood — 
the  latter  writes  that  certain  figures  must  be  done  by  Flax- 
man, for,  he  adds,  u We  have  no  one  here  that  can  do 
them.”  In  the  following  year  he  received  half  in  play, 
half  in  earnest,  from  this  excellent  judge  the  now  well- 
known  appellation  of  the  “ Genius  of  Sculpture.” 

From  this  period  until  he  left  for  Rome  in  1787,  Flax- 
man was  steadily  at  work  for  Wedgwood.  His  designs 
were  almost  wholly  classical  and  extraordinarily  numerous  ; 
among  them  was  the  Apothesis  of  Home,  the  Muses,  the 
Triumph  of  Ariadne,  and  the  Marriage  of  Cupid  and  Psyche, 


346 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN 


With  these  were  mingled  certain  miscellaneous  subjects, 
such  as  dancing  children ; and  thirdly  ideal  and  portrait 
busts — among  others  a head  of  Mercury,  busts  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  Sterne,  Shakespeare  and  himself.  Thus,  though 
his  subjects  were  at  this  period  of  his  life  chiefly  classical, 
he  was,  as  is  evident  from  the  above  instances,  far  from 
confining  himself  wholly  to  one  class  of  design.  But  at 
this  time,  as  is  equally  clear,  his  individuality  of  conception 
had  by  no  means  completely  shown  itself,  for  the  classical 
compositions  were,  when  not  actual  copies,  yet  familiar 
subjects  freshly  treated ; and  it  is  in  the  more  unimportant 
subjects,  so  far  as  their  titles  are  concerned,  his  groups  of 
children,  for  example,  that  we  see  most  clearly  his  taste 
and  the  beauty  of  his  mind  beginning  to  develop  themselves 
in  form.  But  in  an  attempt  to  estimate  the  career  of 
Flaxman  as  a whole,  the  influence  of  this  early  work  of 
his  for  Wedgwood,  apart  from  its  own  beauty  and  grace, 
must  be  fully  grasped.  The  effect  of  early  artistic  in- 
fluences is  so  great  that  the  constant  study  of  the  antique 
which  this  Wedgwood  work  required,  whether  in  merely 
seeking  for  subjects,  or  in  the  actual  copying  of  antique 
models,  without  doubt  actively  directed  Flaxman’s  mind 
towards  antique  subjects,  and  imbued  it  not  only  with  the 
outward  images  of  the  antique,  but  what  was  more  impor- 
tant, with  its  spirit  and  its  characteristics.  No  one  can 
glance  through  the  endless  subjects,  for  example,  or  the 
innumerable  small  personal  ornaments  which  are  contained, 
among  many  other  similar  objects,  in  the  admirable  collec- 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN 


347 


tion  of  Wedgwood  ware  generously  presented  by  Mr. 
Joseph  Mayer,  of  Liverpool,  to  the  Brown  Museum  in 
that  town,  without  being  struck  with  the  inexhaustible 
variety  of  subjects  upon  which  Flaxman’s  mind  must  have 
been  constantly  dwelling. 

One  of  Flaxman’s  principal  characteristics  as  a sculptor 
was  that  he  placed  general  design  and  composition,  and  the 
execution  of  the  main  conception  of  the  idea,  before  minute 
workmanship  or  mere  technical  execution.  And  this  prin- 
ciple must,  to  a large  extent,  have  been  inculcated  by 
this  same  work  for  Wedgwood,  because  it  was  the  general 
design  which  was  the  main  point  to  be  regarded  in  these 
bas-reliefs  on  china.  Their  small  size  prevented  any 
minute  study  of  details,  whether  of  anatomy  or  of  feature, 
hence  Flaxman  would  naturally  fall  into  a style  in  which 
breadth  of  composition  was  the  main  consideration.  It 
was  a characteristic  which  he  carried  with  him  throughout 
his  career,  and  it  is  one  of  the  great  secrets  of  his  success 
as  a sculptor,  for  it  enabled  him  to  regard  a composition 
as  a whole,  and  never  lose  the  central  and  cardinal  idea 
of  the  subject  in  an  anxious  elaboration  of  details.  Breadth 
of  view  is,  of  course,  a distinguishing  mark  of  minds  of 
high  calibre,  and  we  can  hardly  doubt  that  this  character- 
istic was  largely  developed  by  the  work  which  Flaxman 
did  for  the  Staffordshire  potters,  apart  altogether  from  those 
other  qualities,  refinement  and  proportion,  which  were 
necessarily  cultivated  by  the  course  of  labour  which  he 
passed  through  at  this  period  of  his  life. 


348 


MICHAEL  AND  SATAN 


The  grace  of  movement,  the  moderation  of  his  groups 
and  their  excellent  composition  would  make  them  remark- 
able in  themselves,  even  if  they  did  not  hold  a unique 
place  in  a unique  phase  of  the  history  of  British  fictile  art. 
Historically,  therefore,  these  designs  of  Flaxman’s  must 
always  remain  noteworthy,  whilst  they  must  also  be  studied 
in  regard  to  their  effect  upon  his  work,  simply  and  solely 
as  a great  sculptor. 

His  departure  for  Rome  in  1787  is  another  important 
event  in  Flaxman’s  career,  for  it  forms  a visible  division 
between  two  epochs  in  his  life.  It  was  during  his  stay  in 
Rome  that  he  executed  also  two  very  fine  ideal  groups,  the 
colossal  Cephalus  and  Aurora  and  the  four-figured  Fury  of 
Athamas,  works  showing  how  imbued  Flaxman  was  with 
the  character  of  the  sculpture  by  which  he  was  then  sur- 
rounded, but  which  are  also  evidence  of  the  power  and 
individuality  of  his  mind.  Though  he  was  so  steeped  in  the 
classical  spirit  as  to  produce  works  such  as  these,  classical 
in  subject  and  treatment,  he  soon  showed  that  he  was  not 
overcome  by  a classical  yoke,  so  as  to  seek  in  antique  myths 
his  only  subjects ; but,  grasping  forcibly  the  idea  of  the 
antique,  he  asserted  both  his  own  individuality  and  the 
possibility  of  uniting  modern  thought. 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 

( Frederic  Auguste  Bartholdi,  1834-1904) 

ESTHER  SINGLETON 

MERICANS  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  the 


statue  of  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World,  which 
greets  every  ship  as  it  enters  the  harbour  of  New  York  that 
they  sometimes  forget  that  it  is  a masterpiece.  It  is  not 
only  the  largest  statue  ever  made  and  the  poetic  expression 
of  one  nation’s  friendship  for  another  across  the  sea  towards 
which  the  majestic  figure  looks,  but  it  is  a work  of  art  that 
fulfils  all  the  requirements  of  this  branch  of  sculpture. 

“ Colossal  statuary,”  says  the  French  authority,  M.  Les- 
bazeilles,  w is  within  its  scope  when  it  represents  power, 
majesty,  infinity.  It  can  lay  claim  to  that  class  of  emotions 
which  are  produced  in  us  by  the  heaving  of  the  boundless 
sea,  the  roaring  of  the  wind  and  the  rolling  of  the  thunder.” 

Turning  from  the  critic  to  the  practical  sculptor,  Bar- 
tholdi himself,  who  was  the  most  distinguished  sculptor  of 
colossal  statuary  of  modern  times,  we  find  him  saying  that 
“ Colossal  statuary  does  not  consist  simply  in  making  an 
enormous  statue.  It  ought  to  produce  an  emotion  in  the 
breast  of  the  spectator,  not  because  of  its  size  but  because 
its  size  is  in  harmony  with  the  idea  that  it  interprets  and 
with  the  place  which  it  ought  to  occupy.” 


350 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 


The  idea  of  a gift  from  France  to  the  United  States  of 
America,  in  honour  of  the  latter’s  celebration  of  its  hundred 
years  of  independence,  was  first  discussed  at  a dinner  in 
the  house  of  M.  Laboulaye  at  Glavigny  near  Versailles. 
This  resulted  in  the  formation  of  the  Union  Franco- Ameri- 
ca ine  which  accepted  the  design  for  a colossal  statue  sub- 
mitted by  M.  Bartholdi  in  1875.  When  this  was  accepted, 
the  French  society  expressed  its  intention  as  follows  : 

“ We  desire  to  erect  in  the  unequalled  harbour  of  New 
York  a gigantic  statue  on  the  threshold  of  the  New  World, 
to  rise  from  the  bosom  of  the  waves  and  represent  Liberty 
Enlightening  the  World.” 

The  sculptor’s  own  story  of  how  the  idea  came  to  him 
is  worth  repeating : 

u During  the  voyage  I formed  some  plans  for  the  monu- 
ment but  at  the  first  view  of  the  harbour  of  New  York  the 
definite  idea  first  became  clear  to  my  eyes. 

w The  picture  presented  to  view  when  one  arrives  at  New 
York  is  marvellous  ; when  after  several  days  of  voyaging 
in  the  pearly  radiance  of  a beautiful  morning  is  revealed 
the  magnificent  spectacle  of  those  immense  cities  and  those 
rivers  extending  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  alive  with 
masts  and  flags,  the  effect  is  thrilling.  When  one  awakes 
in  the  midst  of  that  inland  sea  filled  with  vessels,  some 
giants  in  size,  some  dwarfs  which  swarm  about,  puffing, 
whistling,  swinging  the  great  arms  of  their  uncovered  walk- 
ing-beams, moving  hither  and  thither  like  a crowd  of  people 
in  a public  square,  the  New  World  appears  in  its  majestic 


STATUE  OF  LIBERTY,  NEW  YORK 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD  35 1 

expanse,  with  the  ardour  of  its  glowing  life.  Is  it  not 
natural  for  an  artist  to  be  inspired  by  such  a spectacle  ? 
Yes,  in  this  very  place  should  be  raised  the  Statue  of 
Liberty,  grand  as  the  idea  which  it  embodies,  radiant  upon 
the  two  worlds.  If  then,  the  form  of  the  accomplished 
work  is  mine,  to  the  Americans  I owe  the  thought  and  the 
inspiration  which  gave  it  birth.  I was  conscious  when  I 
landed  at  New  York  that  I had  found  the  idea  which  my 
friends  had  hoped  for.” 

The  French  people  subscribed  enough  to  pay  for  the  cost 
of  the  work — -more  than  $250,000.  M.  Bartholdi  set  to 
work.  The  arm  with  the  uplifted  torch  was  finished  first 
and  sent  to  the  Centennial  Exhibition  in  Philadelphia  in 
1876  and  the  head  was  placed  on  view  at  the  Paris  Exposi- 
tion in  1878.  In  1877  the  citizens  of  New  York  held  a 
meeting  and  appointed  a committee  to  raise  the  necessary 
funds  and  procure  the  necessary  legislation  for  the  erec- 
tion of  this  gift  to  the  nation.  Congress  authorized  its 
acceptance  and  passed  a resolution  to  provide  for  its  erection 
on  Bedloe’s  Island  and  also  for  its  care.  The  public  sub- 
scriptions were  devoted  to  the  foundation  and  the  pedestal. 
The  statue  is  made  in  sections  and  of  plates  of  thin  ham- 
mered copper.  When  finished,  these  were  fastened  to  an 
immense  iron  truss-work  designed  and  executed  by  the 
famous  French  engineer,  M.  Eiffel,  who  had  not  then  pro- 
duced his  celebrated  Eiffel  Tower.  When  completed  in 
1884,  the  great  statue  was  set  up  in  Paris  and  presented 
formally  to  the  United  States  Minister  in  Paris.  In  the 


352  LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 


following  year  it  was  taken  to  pieces  and  shipped  in  the 
French  man-of-war,  here.  It  arrived  in  New  York  Harbour 
in  June,  1885,  and  was  dedicated  on  October  28,  1886,  with 
formal  ceremonies,  in  which  the  Comte  de  Lesseps, 
M.  Bartholdi  and  President  Cleveland  took  part. 

For  twenty  years  Bartholdi  had  worked  upon  this 
masterpiece  and  his  was  the  hand  that  drew  aside  the 
curtain  and  unveiled  to  the  New  World  the  majestic 
work  that  has  been  called  the  u Eighth  Wonder  of  the 
World.” 

Liberty  Enlightening  the  World  is  the  largest  statue  ever 
made.  It  is  three  times  the  height  of  the  famed  Colossus 
of  Rhodes.  The  total  height  including  the  pedestal  is 
three  hundred  and  five  feet,  six  inches  ; and  the  height 
from  base  to  torch,  one  hundred  and  fifty-one  feet,  one 
inch.  The  length  of  the  hand  is  sixteen  feet,  five  inches, 
and  the  forefinger  measures  nearly  eight  feet.  The  head 
from  chin  to  cranium  is  seventeen  feet,  three  inches ; the 
space  across  the  eye  occupies  two  feet,  six  inches  ; the 
length  of  nose  is  four  feet,  six  inches;  the  mouth  is  three 
feet  wide ; and  the  length  of  the  right  arm  is  forty-two 
feet.  The  latter  is  twelve  feet  thick.  The  whole  statue 
weighs  450,000  pounds.  Forty  persons  can  stand  in  the 
head  and  the  torch  holds  twelve. 

The  foundation  for  the  pedestal,  which  is  eighty-nine  feet 
high  and  built  of  cut  stone,  was  made  within  the  walls  of 
old  Fort  Wood.  The  dimensions  of  the  pedestal  are  sixty- 
three  feet  square  at  the  base  and  forty-three  feet,  six 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD  353 


inches  at  the  top.  The  torch  and  diadem  are  lighted  by 
electricity. 

It  may  be  asked  with  reason  does  this  work  express  the 
general  principles  that  M.  Bartholdi  considers  essential  in 
colossal  statuary : (i)  that  the  character  or  idea  of  the 
subject  should  be  in  harmony  with  the  size  of  the  work ; 
(2)  the  appropriateness  of  the  site  and  surroundings  of  the 
monument ; and  (3)  an  understanding  of  the  lines  and 
general  composition  required  for  colossal  statues.  Regard- 
ing the  first  point,  he  says : 

“ The  immensity  of  form  should  be  filled  with  the  im- 
mensity of  thought  and  the  spectator  should  be  impressed 
with  the  greatness  of  the  idea  expressed  in  the  great  form 
without  being  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  comparative 
measurements  in  order  to  receive  an  emotion. 

“With  regard  to  a choice  of  site,  the  frame  should  help 
the  subject.  It  can  be  improved  by  architectural  effects, 
such  as  flights  of  steps,  but  above  all  a site  favoured  by 
Nature  should  be  sought  for.  The  neighbourhood  of  large 
masses  should  be  avoided.  The  artist  should  endeavour  to 
find  a site  in  which  the  line  of  the  ground  and  the  colouring 
of  the  background  will  aid  him  in  producing  an  impression. 

w There  should  be  great  simplicity  in  the  movement  and 
in  the  exterior  lines.  The  gesture  ought  to  be  made  plain 
by  the  profile.  The  details  of  the  line  should  never  arrest 
the  eye  and  the  breaks  in  the  line  should  be  bold  and  such 
as  are  suggested  by  the  general  design.  Moreover,  the 
work  should  be  filled  out  as  much  as  possible  and  not  pre- 


354  LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 


sent  black  spots  or  exaggerated  recesses.  The  surfaces 
should  be  broad  and  simple,  defined  by  a bold  and  clear  de- 
sign, accentuated  in  the  important  places.  The  enlarge- 
ment of  the  details  or  their  multiplicity  is  to  be  feared. 
Either  fault  destroys  the  proportion  of  the  work.  Finally 
the  design  should  have  a summarized  character,  such  as 
one  would  give  to  a rapid  sketch.  Only  it  is  necessary 
that  this  character  should  be  the  product  of  volition  and 
study  and  that  the  artist  in  concentrating  his  knowledge 
should  express  the  form  and  line  with  the  greatest  sim- 
plicity.” 

The  site  is  ideal,  and  was  always  appreciated.  When 
the  Indian  island  called  Minnisais  (meaning  small  island) 
became  the  property  of  Isaac  Bedlow,  the  latter  put  so 
many  improvements  upon  it  that  the  Governor  of  New 
York  issued  an  order  stating  that  because  of  these  it  should 
be  a privileged  place  where  no  arrests  should  be  made 
or  warrants  issued  without  the  Governor’s  special  per- 
mission. 

After  Bedlow’s  death,  Love  Island,  as  it  was  known,  was 
sold  to  Captain  Kennedy  of  the  British  Army  for  £100. 

In  1750  New  York  bought  the  island  and  for  a long 
time  it  was  used  for  a pest-house  and  quarantine  station  ; 
but  in  1800  it  became  the  property  of  the  United  States 
and  in  1814  was  fortified.  The  star-shaped  Fort  Wood 
formed  a ready-made  base  for  the  foundation  of  the 
pedestal  of  a design  that  accorded  perfectly  with  the 


statue. 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD  355 

When  the  statue  was  first  mounted,  Julian  Hawthorne 
wrote  a sympathetic  description,  which  bears  quoting. 

“ There  is  nothing  small  in  the  treatment ; the  lines  and 
the  composition  are  vast  in  their  quality  as  well  as  in  their 
dimensions — vast  and  simple.  The  conception  is  as  great 
as  the  accomplished  reality.  It  is  a thing  which  takes  its 
place  quietly  and  naturally  in  the  midst  of  the  broad  scene 
of  which  it  is  the  culmination  ; it  is  at  once  at  home  there ; 
though  it  awes,  it  does  not  astonish ; once  in  its  place,  it 
seems  to  have  stood  there  since  the  dawn  of  time.  It 
mingles  harmoniously  with  the  sea  and  sky ; the  rain  and 
mists  were  its  friends  and  familiars  ; and  the  sunshine  will 
rest  upon  it  as  fittingly  as  upon  the  peak  of  a mountain, 
and  the  clouds,  at  noon  and  sunset,  will  form  a part  of 
its  grandeur,  or  glorify  it  with  their  crimson  and  gold. 
When  the  thunder  rolls  across  the  bay,  those  lofty  lips 
will  seem  to  have  spoken,  and  the  snow  of  winter  will 
drift  around  it  like  a drifting  veil. 

“ Though  the  bronze  goddess  stands  motionless  and 
firm,  she  seems  but  a moment  ago  to  have  assumed  the 
attitude  which  she  will  retain  through  centuries  to  come. 
She  has  stepped  forward  and  halted,  and  raised  her  torch 
into  the  sky.  There  is  energy  without  effort,  and  move- 
ment combined  with  repose.  Her  aspect  is  grave  almost 
to  sternness  ; yet  her  faultless  features  wear  the  serenity 
of  power  and  confidence.  Her  message  is  the  sublimest 
ever  brought  to  man,  but  she  is  adequate  to  its  delivery. 
In  her  left  hand  she  holds  a tablet  inscribed  with  the  most 


356  LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 

glorious  of  our  memories,  the  birthday  of  the  Republic. 
No  words  are  needed  to  interpret  her  meaning,  for  her 
gesture  and  her  countenance  speak  the  universal  language, 
and  their  utterance  reaches  to  the  purest  depths  of  the 
human  soul.” 


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